


Maelstrom

by KDlala



Series: Dragon Age Maelstrom [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 177,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDlala/pseuds/KDlala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the change sweeps the world, the most immediate conflict is only one facet.  The changing wind sweeps through layer upon layer upon layer.  The better to alter -everything-.  Rated M for language and content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Voices from the Past

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken quite a few liberties with the layout of the Hawke Estate.

_When the pawn hits the conflicts he thinks like a king_

_What he knows throws the blows when he goes to the fight_

_And he'll win the whole thing 'fore he enters the ring_

_There's no body to batter when your mind is your might_

_So when you go solo, you hold your own hand_

_And remember that depth is the greatest of heights_

_And if you know where you stand, then you know where to land_

_And if you fall it won't matter, cause you'll know that you're right_

**\- Fiona Apple, _When the Pawn_**

****

****

_"I have a strange question for you, young Champion; do you ever feel like you're being manipulated? By something beyond your control or ken?"_

_"Milady, I believe I'm in the rather unique position of being absolutely certain that I am."_

**\- recorded from a conversation between Ferelden Commander of the Gray Mior Andras and Alessa Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.**

* * *

The Warden-Commander had disappeared.

Alistair's sorrowful words echoed in Leliana's mind. She had only met Mior Andras a couple of times but she agreed with the king's firm assurance she wouldn't have just walked away without a word, not even if she was answering the Calling. There was no indication from any of her Gray Wardens that she was starting to be pulled by the call, either. She hadn't packed, the only thing missing from her rooms was her sword. The legendary Starfang and the legend that wielded it, however, were gone without a trace.

Leliana glanced at a particularly decrepit mansion as she walked through the eerily quiet streets of Hightown, wondering what had happened to it. _All_ of Kirkwall was eerily silent, as if everyone was holding their breath, afraid of drawing attention. It wouldn't last. The chaos that was whirling through the entire land had started here. Pretty soon either mages or templars would clash together and the people of Kirkwall...the ones who hadn't fled anyway...would tremble and hope they'd live it out.

The estate she turned into was in much better condition than the one down the street, but it clearly hadn't been lived in for a while. Leliana paused at the gates and cocked her head curiously. The guard-house at the edge had been converted into some kind of...shop? This had to be where the little dwarf serving the Empress had worked out of. His father had said they'd lived here.

She continued down the path. The two Seekers standing guard at the door nodded to her and she nodded back, continuing past them. One of them pointed her silently toward where Cassandra had gone, but it was a male voice she heard as she approached. She guessed that had to be the dwarf Cassandra had been looking for.

Leliana was in no hurry to give her the news about the Warden-Commander, which wasn't going to brighten her mood at all, so she made no attempt to distract Cassandra from her interrogation. After a few minutes of listening to the dwarf talk, she came to the conclusion that he'd probably do well not to exaggerate too much if he wanted to keep from provoking Cassandra and her fellow Seeker would do well to make sure he understood they meant no harm to Alessa Hawke, because he would never betray her.

A wistful smile tugged her lips as she moved into the depths of the estate. That easy tone of a natural storyteller...she couldn't blame the dwarf for adding a bit of creative touch here and there. Didn't she do the same thing whenever she told stories about Malaina?

Not that stories about her needed it. Malaina Surana had been described as nearly everything over the years since her death, and not all of it complimentary. She'd been everything a hero shouldn't have been, after all. A Gray Warden, a blood mage, a _half breed_ , for the Maker's sake. An elven mage Aisha Surana may have been, but to this day Leliana refused to believe the rumors the woman had become an abomination with her daughter still in her womb. Even if Malaina believed it. Even if she'd sometimes seen something dark and feral deep within her friend's eyes. Even if those eyes were focused on something only Malaina could see more often than not.

But most of all, especially to the people of Ferelden, she was the woman who had moved to give them their great king...and then given her life to save them all.

And to Leliana she was, and always would be, her friend. And she wished- oh, how she wished -that she was here now.

Granted, Malaina had been excellent at _causing_ chaos rather than calming it. Certainly she'd been good at taking the expectations of an entire country and flipping it on its head without so much as batting an eye.

Much like Hawke, by all accounts.

Since her own search had come to a standstill, Leliana wandered through the Hawke Estate silently to see what she could gather for Cassandra. Where a person lived told you so much about them.

She stepped into a large room where someone had lit a brazier and used a torch to light the others in the room, along with an elaborate candelabra set in the middle of a large table. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the library.

She'd heard the Champion had been quite the scholar, but...

Books were crammed into every shelf to the utmost capacity, piled on top of them and in front of them, scattered across the table, sitting in the window-seat. She ran her fingers along the spines of some of them. There were novels, yes...she noted with amusement that she had a copy of every single book her dwarf friend had published. There were lots of treatises from the University of Orlais. No surprise there, she'd accompanied the Grand Cleric to Val Royeaux when she'd first become Champion...she'd even engaged the Empress in conversation...and Cassandra had mentioned she had a great deal of contact with people from the University since then. Most of them seemed centered on mathematics, medicine, and archeology. There was, however, a special place for the ones describing the more controversial topics like astronomy and physics, new medical techniques, pathology...she had to look that one up before she remembered it, it was the study of the dead...and published works from archeologists discovering ruins that were supposed to have been built long before the accepted lines of history. Several from that traveling scholar- she couldn't remember his name -and his studies on how animals varied from place to place depending on their environment. On and on over a vast variety of subjects.

_She spent a lot of time here,_ Leliana thought. She saw personal touches everywhere. There were notes and letters scattered about, set in neat piles. Star maps, scrolls filled with lines of complicated number problems, a copy of a human skeleton made of wood hanging in the corner.

She paused at the fireplace, grinning. There was a rather austere statue at the mantel. It might have been frightening except someone had glued what looked like dog hair onto it to make a bushy mustache.

Hidden in the back drawer of a small desk, she found papers with letters and words written on it, the same ones over and over, starting out almost childish and scrawled and slowly becoming neater as she flipped through them. A small smile tugged her lips as she realized what it was. _She was teaching someone to write._ She wondered who. The little dwarf maybe?

She wandered around a bit before heading for the doors that would take her to the garden. The night was cool as she stepped outside, quiet except for the rustling of the wind through leaves and the trickle from a small fountain made of natural stone in the center. It had been well kept, but it was starting to overgrow. It was an odd mix of neat beds and wildflowers that had been allowed to grow freely. Statues and pieces of white stone set half hidden amongst the plants gave it a mysterious feel. She squinted, just able to make out an herb garden in the corner and near that was a small building separate from the rest of the estate.

Frowning, Leliana started toward it when a flash of white caught her eye. A piece of paper had been caught in the door. She picked it up and smoothed it out, leaning back inside so she could use the light.

_Fenris,_

_Varric assures me he won't let this get intercepted, which is good, you know I'm no good with cryptic words. The Templars that arrived a few weeks ago have taken over. If Cullen is still in command, it won't be for long. They've taken over the guard. I had their leader come in and ask me a lot of pointed questions about how close Hawke was to her sister. I guess I should have seen it coming, with all the talk about 'Parthalan's Heir'. The official story that they are going with is she sided with the mages and helped Anders in order to overthrow Meredith. I'll give Cullen credit for trying to say that's not exactly how it happened but they aren't listening._

_Varric has gone underground, Merril is sailing out with Isabela and so are Donnic and I, along with several of the guard. We are heading to Ferelden, since by all accounts King Alistair is managing to keep things calmer than they are elsewhere, maybe because their Circle isn't directly under the Templar's control. Isabela offered to take us but she won't wait more than a week, they are already starting to shut the Docks down and it is likely even at this point there will be a fight when she sets sail, whether any of us are on it or not. We're planning to sail out in two days, at eventide._

_Get her out, Fenris. I doubt she will need much convincing now, especially from you. She's always listened to you. Use that. Use this letter. Use anything, but_ _ get her out _ _._

_I hope to see you two at the docks._

_Aveline_

Cassandra would definitely want to see this. Leliana tucked it into her belt and continued out into the garden, lighting a torch from one of the braziers.

The small building turned out to be a family chapel. There was a second herb garden on its other side. Leliana paused, frowning. The door was open, swinging softly in the breeze.

There was a burn mark on it. As if something burning had hit the center of the door, making a black star shape.

She stepped inside and stared. The pews had been pushed off to the side and the alter had been turned into a mad workshop of jars, bowls, mortar and pestles, thin glass tubes hung over a bowl with a candle in it and a variety of bizarre contraptions and notes she didn't have a hope of interpreting. An overturned stool stood at each end. Burn marks dotted the ceiling and there was a hole in one of the stained glass windows that let a shaft of moonlight slice through the length of the room. The wall behind the alter was covered in more mixed up lines of numbers. A large brazier stood off to the side with a small cauldron suspended over it on a hook.

The library had been the warm den of a dedicated scholar, but this...this was the den of a madwoman. And in the _chapel_! In a way it would have been easier if she'd deliberately desecrated the place, but it was more like she simply hadn't cared that it was supposed to be holy. The careless treatment of what must have been a beautiful chapel once was...very disturbing.

Approaching the alter eased her a little bit. Most of it was dedicated to making potions and salves, bandages and other things for healing. But on the other side, she saw residue of things that she knew beyond a doubt were poisons. She was also fairly certain a couple of things she saw were some kind of explosive, which would explain the burn marks everywhere.

It caught her eye because it was centered exactly in the middle of all the clutter, everything around it pushed slightly away. A small leather bound book. A flutter of excitement went through her as she picked it up. A journal. _Hawke's_ journal. She flipped through it slowly. There were lots of notes and formulas for creating poisons, healing potions, explosives and traps, and more scribbled numbers. There were also little notes of reminder: 'Sneak in and restock Anders's shelves tonight.', 'Tell Aveline about the secret passage into Banyard's estate. Also, give Donnic his cards back.', ' _The Demon Went Down to Antiva-_ Varric has GOT to hear this one.', 'Get a copy of that new book by Kalle for Fenris.', 'Remember AGAIN to give Merril and Orana those flower cuttings like you promised, stupid.', 'Isabela, if you are reading this, that powder I put in the drawer around it is going to make you very itchy and not in a fun way. Haha.'

There were very few full length entries, most of it was jotted notes or thoughts. The longest entry was the last one, dated not long before Hawke had supposedly fled the city:

_They burned the museum down. Several of the instructors were still in the building but they didn't care. Amalthia was one of them, and Kara, and Malin. Haze and Zek escaped, they sent me a note saying they were fleeing back to Orlais and they were okay. I hope they make it. Aveline told me it started a huge riot and several templars were killed, but they killed a lot more Lowtown people._

_They burned the museum down. I'm writing it for the second time and I still cannot believe it. I want to believe that it's because it offended their religious sensibilities. I want to believe it's because they disapprove of commoners getting the same kind of education as nobles. But I don't think so. At least that wasn't their main reason. Neither does Aveline. They burned it down because it had so many ties to me._

_It wasn't a big place. The world isn't going to feel much loss because of it. But it was important to_ _ us _ _. They burned down all the classrooms and killed some of the teachers. They burned down the library. All the music, all the books, history, art, artifacts and discoveries and notes some of the students and scholars were working on that might be lost to the world forever now. They_ _ destroyed _ _all of it. And felt righteous in doing it, I bet._

Leliana ran her fingers lightly over several large spots that stained the ink. Tears.

_Fenris says it isn't my fault, that they wanted to get rid of it because it was a symbol of everything that is changing. I guess he's right, I would much rather believe that than believe they would do it just because it meant so much to me. But he agrees with Aveline and I cannot argue it anymore. My presence is causing more harm than good now._

_I'm so angry. I want to blame Anders. DAMN him. But it isn't him. Flemeth was right. The Warden-Commander told me too. It is change. And all this is only the beginning._

Then, scrawled hastily at the bottom of the page:

_The Gray Lady came to me in my dreams again last night. When I woke up I found a letter on the desk that I don't remember writing. Well, she did apologize for that. It is not for me so I did not read it, I will leave it here. Under the journal. She says the person it is addressed to will find it._

_If you are reading this, Sister Nightingale...that letter is for you._

Even before the last line, Leliana's hands were trembling.

_The Gray Lady came to me in my dreams again last night._

It couldn't be. It _could not be._

She put the journal down and stared, her breath catching when she saw an envelope on the alter, took in the name scrawled in graceful script across the front.

_Leliana_

* * *

It took her a while to build up the courage to pick the letter up. She took it and the journal back to the library, unable to stand that dark, strange chapel anymore.

It had been easy to dismiss the rumors and tales she had heard of a beautiful ghost they called The Gray Lady, even if the descriptions of her were eerily accurate...

But when she'd visited Alistair to learn more about Mior's disappearance, he'd asked her a strange question.

" _Have you...seen her too, Leliana?"_

" _Who?"_

" _Malaina."_

" _Malaina is dead, Alistair. She's with the Maker."_

" _And yet, I've seen and heard her. So has Mior."_

She had pushed the conversation into the back of her mind. But then she'd come across Zevran in her travels and _he_ had asked her if she'd seen Malaina. He'd been reluctant to go into any more detail and had simply accepted it when she had said no.

Even then she'd tried to push it out of her mind. The fact those questions had come from the two men in the world who desperately wanted Malaina back more than anything- one who had loved her like a sister and another who had loved her despite his efforts not to -made it easier to dismiss it as wishful thinking.

But Hawke...there was no connection between Hawke and Malaina. She could think of no reasonable explanation why this letter in her hand had been in that chapel, that Hawke would have left it for her. Not even as a cruel joke.

She sat down in a chair, staring at the letter for a long time.

It could not be.

She could still hear the dwarf speaking faintly but it was a hum in the background as she finally opened the envelope and pulled out the pieces of paper within it. The words at the top of the first page stripped away any doubt she could possibly have had.

_A thousand eyes within the night_

_And each a different view_

_Each different mind each different sight_

_Each eye sees something new_

Leliana closed her eyes against a sting of tears. A simple little poem she'd coaxed and helped Malaina write one night over drinks. Malaina had been possessed of a decent singing voice but no artistic ability whatsoever. She did, however, have a great appreciation for poems and songs.

She had been embarrassed, had almost torn it up before Leliana had taken it away. Malaina had only given in to letting her keep it on the strict promise she would never show it to anyone else. She still had that paper, tucked away in a keepsake box. And she'd kept that promise. Zevran, Alistair, and Oghren had all pestered her endlessly but not a one of them had never gotten a hold of it. It had become special, something just between friends.

There was no way Hawke could have known it...unless Malaina had guided her hand.

_Dear Leliana,_

_Please forgive me for not seeking you out. It takes a lot out of me and I used the last of my current strength to see Zevran._ _I hope you can understand why. I've had to pull back into the Fade for now. To watch. And prepare as best I can._

_I wish I could tell you, dear one, that I'm writing this because I have answers for you. What I see, what I've always seen, has always been vague. Isn't that always the way? All I know is you will come to Kirkwall looking for Hawke, that she...and Kirkwall...will be where everything will ignite._

_No, I have not possessed our little troublemaker. Hawke is no abomination. She's just an extremely vivid dreamer, that helps. I've also been keeping an eye on her, by now I'm sure you probably understand why. Hawke and her sister, they are maelstroms. When times of great change come about, they start showing up. People that change the world simply by existing. By being who they are. I was one, Alistair is one, Mior is one. So is that testy silver ghost that holds Alessa's heart, though I doubt he's figured it out yet. And so, my dear friend, are you._

_And so is Morrigan. Yes, my dark sister is still out there, far beyond the reach of you or the Chantry, at least for the moment. I'm not certain if the path she's taking is good for any of us, her most of all, but there is little anyone can do about it._

_And so is Flemeth. She might be the ultimate one. I suggest you keep your eye out for both of them._

_That is not the only reason I left this for you. I have always envied you your easy faith, even if I could not share it. You are faithful, but not blind, and that's a rare quality. Never doubt for a moment that they will need you. That the world needs you. No matter what happens._

_I realize I'm leaving you with far more questions than answers, and I'm terribly sorry._

_Be safe, sweet Leliana. I leave you with, perhaps, a slight addition to the no doubt extremely entertaining tale the dwarf is going to be putting out. Just a simple truth. And a warning._

_It starts...and ends...with the wind._

_Malaina_

* * *


	2. On the Wind

_"A rush of breath, a sudden death, a tale begun."_

**\- Dean Koontz, _The Book of Counted Sorrows_**

* * *

It starts with the wind

* * *

_It sweeps from the sea and billows into the harbor, traveling through the city, sending hats flying and cloaks fluttering. Kirkwall, City of Chains. A city wrapped in the grip of its history and still...somehow...not learning anything from it. The citizens of Hightown murmur in annoyance and try to stop skirts from flying up and papers from fluttering away. The citizens of Lowtown pause and tilt their heads to catch it, though it brings the stink of smoke and chokedamp with it. It's still a welcome stir of the heavy air._

_Perhaps only a few in the entirety of the city pause to consider that wind, those with perhaps a bit of magic in their blood or those mages with abilities to look beyond time enough to see it as a portent. And even they shake their heads and dismiss it after a moment. Just an unusually strong wind, nothing more._

_Not a changing wind._

_Not the beginning of a maelstrom._

* * *

The ship fell silent as it traveled along the length of the cliffs. Even the crew, who surely had passed through Kirkwall before, were subdued. Most of the passengers, many of them refugees from Ferelden, looked up at the rising wall of black rock with a sort of superstitious awe. As they came closer to the city in the distance, great faces started showing up, carved into the rock. They seemed to leer down at the two young women at the ship's rail, looking up at them with wide eyes.

"Mother says they're supposed to be the Old Gods," the first girl said.

"They're horrible," the second said, her voice hushed.

An older passenger standing a few paces down from them made a Chantry sign with his hand, a ward against evil. "Cursed things, they're very existence is a blasphemy..."

The first girl ignored him. "I wonder how they carved them into the cliffs. It's too bad we cannot get a closer look at them." She leaned over the rail as if that would give her a clearer look.

The old man frowned at her and the second girl, alarmed, tugged on the back of her tunic to draw her back. "Stop it, 'Lessa, you'll fall."

"You should be praying to the Maker for their destruction and freedom from corruption by them, young lady, not wondering how they got there," the old man said condemningly.

The first girl turned to squint at him and he found himself uneasy when pinned by that stare, not for any expression in them, but for the fact she had two different colored eyes, one brown and one blue. Meeting them was unnerving. She scoffed. "That makes no sense. Besides, eventually they _will_ be destroyed. In a few hundred years or so the wind and the sea will have worn them down to nothing more than bumps in the rock. Oh, look, Beth!"

She went bounding down toward the front of the ship, pointing at the figures that were now looming up in front of them as they started to make the slow turn that would take them into Kirkwall's harbor. Bethany trailed behind her, tilting her head back. The opening in the cliff was flanked by two massive statues, chains trailing out from them to a rocky island positioned several hundred feet out to sea.

Murmurs rose from those gathered on the deck. "They can draw great nets of metal to block off passage through the cliffs if they need to, that's what one of the sailors said," murmured one of the Ferelden woman.

A man beside her snorted and shook his head. "If Orlais sent one of those big warships of theirs, it'd ram right through."

Bethany started as Alessa nudged her, shaking her head. "No ship could build up enough velocity to ram through something that heavy no matter how big it was," she murmured.

"Could build up enough what?"

"Velocity. It's a new way to measure movement. The University in Val Royeaux just released a treatise on it from their School of Natural Sciences. Isn't it a great word? Velocity." She spoke it slowly just to relish the way the syllables ran off her tongue.

She managed, just barely, to keep from rolling her eyes. "Why did they need a new word to measure movement? Why do they _need_ to measure movement?"

"Because it's there?"

Bethany thought about all the stories she'd heard about the University of Orlais and wondered how many times the reasoning behind some of the crazy things that supposedly happened there boiled down to "...Because."

Alessa shrugged. "I don't know. That whole school of thought seems dedicated to finding a way to measure every single tiny aspect of the world. Still, it's a fun word. _Velocity_!"

Bethany smiled despite herself. "You've just been waiting for an excuse to use that word, haven't you?"

"Yep." Alessa frowned in sudden annoyance. "I don't have the treatise with me or I'd show you. I lost it..." She trailed off.

Bethany nodded. She'd lost it along with all the rest of her beloved books when they'd fled Lothering. They'd lost _everything_ when they'd fled Lothering. "All of Papa's books are gone too," she whispered.

Alessa squeezed her hand. "But we made it through alive."

Almost...

Bethany closed her eyes.

_Her mother is screaming. The ogre is roaring as Carver charges it, acting before he thinks the way he always does._

_The ogre is roaring as it picks her twin brother up and crushes the life out of him. Carver cries out once as he's slammed into the ground with a sickening crunch._

_Her mother is screaming at Alessa for letting him go._

_Alessa is sitting quietly on a rock. She's not crying, but that isn't surprising. Beth can't remember the last time she saw Alessa cry. Beth's ability to hold her tears back starts to crumble as she looks up at her. It's hard to swallow, and she cannot speak. She wants to tell her sister it's not her fault. That there was nothing that they could have done. That if Carver had just thought instead of acted. Just_ once...

_They stare at each other across the clearing for a few moments, and then Alessa rises and steps off the rock, lifting an arm in a silent invitation. Bethany sways for a moment, then goes to her big sister, finally letting her tears fall. Alessa holds her tightly, letting her forehead rest against Bethany's, the two of them standing in the darkness of the Blightlands. Mourning._

Slim fingers brushed a lock of hair out of Bethany's eyes, drawing her out of her thoughts. She met Alessa's concerned gaze and smiled a bit to show her she was all right.

The Hawke sisters stood in Kirkwall's rising shadow for a long moment, watching the weeping statues attached to the cliffs pass over them soberly. Alessa didn't even have the heart to wonder how they had attached them to the cliff.

Bethany was eighteen, on the cusp of womanhood, beautiful in a way that made men catch their breath. Her black hair fell in soft waves around her face and her light brown eyes held, perhaps, a touch more reserve than was common in a girl her age. There was an air of quiet watchfulness around her, and not without reason. Bethany was a mage, carrying power within her most people only dreamed about. She was apostate, a wild mage, free of the Circle and the Templars' control, trained by their father, who had fled the Circle long ago. She carried the weight of knowing her family had sacrificed much to keep her free and that watchfulness, that carefulness, came from her not wanting to put them in any more danger than possible.

Alessa, two years and three months older than her sister, stood almost two inches shorter. Her hair was sleek as a seal's pelt, the same jet black as Bethany's, cut short around a wise little face with much sharper features. She moved with a quick, uncanny grace and those sharp, bi-colored eyes took in and thought about everything she was seeing. Far from being a deadly bird of prey like their last name implied, she more resembled some kind of strange little blackbird. She had the same watchful look as her sister with perhaps a bit more of a threat if someone's gaze landed a little too long on them- more specifically on Bethany -more of a calm assessment of whether to run or fight.

Bethany stirred and looked around. "We should get Mother."

Alessa grimaced. "You should probably do it, she's still not speaking to me."

"She doesn't really blame you, you know. She's just..." Bethany sighed and turned away, moving to head down into the hold. She nodded cautiously to Aveline, who was just emerging on deck, as she passed, disappearing down below. Alessa turned away, shoving her hands in her pockets as she stared down the corridor of rock ahead of them. Her fingers brushed something and she pulled the amulet out, studying it.

"Are you really going to take that to the Dalish?" Aveline asked as she joined her by the rail. Her red hair was held in a tight, neat braid at the back of her head. Alessa wondered, not for the first time, how Aveline managed to always look neat and dignified no matter what the situation. It had to be a military officer thing. She always felt like a scruffy urchin next to Aveline.

Alessa shrugged and shoved the amulet back into her pocket. "A deal is a deal. She got us through. She kept her end of the bargain."

Aveline nodded silently. Another woman in mourning, though she was quieter about it than Mother. Her husband hadn't survived to travel across the Blightlands, the darkspawn had tainted him. Hawke couldn't imagine how hard it had been for her to kill the man she loved, even to put him out of his misery.

They stood in silence for a bit. Aveline wasn't one for small talk, which was good, because Alessa was absolutely terrible at it. She either didn't say enough, or said way too much. Aveline startled her when she spoke again. "I just hope she's not pulling your chain, Hawke. She seemed to know a lot more than she was letting on."

_Hurtled into the chaos, you fight... and the world will shake before you._ The old witch who had saved them from the overwhelming darkspawn horde had been full of cryptic comments but that one in particular had sent a chill of foreboding down her spine. The sight of the old woman, Flemeth, shifting from the form of a dragon into a woman was an image that she was quite certain would remain with her the rest of her life. She nodded slowly, her fingers brushing the amulet in her pocket again. "No doubt she is but even if she's jerking me around, I guess I'll have to swallow my pride and let her do it. All I know is I can't break a promise...particularly when it was made to a woman who can change into a dragon. She doesn't really need an excuse to eat me, but I'm still going to avoid giving her one."

She had intended for that to maybe get a smile out of Aveline but it didn't work. She just nodded silently, her gaze on the water. Bethany and Leandra joined them a moment later. Hawke's gaze met her mother's for a brief moment, then they both looked away, Carver's death still hovering in the air between them like a shroud.

The four women stood silently and watched Kirkwall's docks come closer and closer. The wind swept across the deck, ruffling their hair, carrying Leandra's voice as she spoke, little more than a whisper: "Well, here we are..."


	3. A Warm Welcome

_"You never would have mistaken Hawke for a hero, especially in the early days. But Aveline now...right off the boat you could see she was made of the stuff you find in legendary heroes, her namesake notwithstanding."_

**-Namor Thelwis, Ferelden refugee and storyteller**

* * *

Bethany edged further back into the alcove she'd wedged herself into as the gray clouds roiling above the courtyard finally unleashed the rain that had been threatening all morning. The weather had been strange, the sun never quite hiding completely but never quite shining either. People all over the courtyard scattered, seeking shelter beneath overhangs and in corridors. Except for the guards, of course. They couldn't even budge. Leaving their posts for even a few moments would allow some of the Ferelden refugees to sneak past them and into the city.

She swiped water from her eyes and gave up trying to stay dry, moving past the pillars to the main area of the courtyard. Alessa was standing near the stairs that led up to Kirkwall, her head tilted back, eyes closed as she let rain pound down on her. As Bethany approached, she shook her hair out of her eyes and looked down at herself, lifting the neck of her tunic and sniffing. She grimaced, shaking her head. "Yick. I was hoping that smell wasn't me."

Beth winced. They'd been stuck here for days and after so long cooped up on the ship, they were all unwashed and bedraggled. "Well, the rain is about as close to a bath as we've had for a while. I suppose that's a good thing. Looking like filthy, worthless scum only makes the guards more smug as they look down their noses at us."

Alessa reached over and ruffled her wet hair as if searching her scalp for something. "No fleas."

Bethany batted her hand away with a surprised giggle. Before they'd found Lothering, they had grown up on the run constantly and their family had sometimes spent days or even weeks in horrible conditions. Accusations of being flea-ridden vagrants had been a fairly regular thing. When they were younger, Father would sometimes pick one of them up and playfully ruffle through their hair before announcing them flea free.

Beth returned the favor as the rain started to taper off. "No fleas."

Alessa grinned and raked her hands through her hair, slicking it back from her face before fixing her eyes on something across the courtyard. Bethany followed her gaze and understood why she'd picked that particular vantage point: it allowed her to observe the man who'd set up a makeshift shop at one corner of the courtyard without putting herself immediately in his view.

They both studied him in silence for a long moment. "Not a nice man," Alessa commented, tightening the leather wraps on her hands.

"That is not going to make it any easier."

Alessa shrugged. "You said you didn't think you had the stomach for mercenary work. Neither do I."

Bethany looked at the merchant, her lips pressed in a thin line. "I can't use spells here. There is absolutely no way I can without attracting attention."

"That complicates things a bit," Alessa agreed, digging around in the satchel that hung crookedly at her waist. Father had the tailor in Lothering craft it specially for her, the wide belt holding one large satchel with many smaller packets and sacks along the length of the belt itself. They held healing supplies, poisons to smear on her daggers and little bottles she'd created that made things like clouds of smoke or even explosions when she threw them, along with tools, odds and ends that Bethany frankly had no idea what they did but they served some purpose to her crazy sister.

Crazy was (maybe) a bit harsh. Alessa was smarter than anyone she knew. She was an able fighter and like Carver, she hadn't been born with magical ability. Malcolm Hawke had passed his considerable magical abilities on to his younger daughter. His oldest had inherited his ability to learn and adapt to nearly anything.

Her toolbelt was almost empty now. Alessa sorted through what she had, frowning. Almost everything for both healing and harm had been used against the darkspawn as they fled.

"You think he'll have any food?" Bethany had often found when they were about to do something absolutely insane...like threaten a man with mercenaries guarding him with most if not all their resources at the bare minimum on behalf of a smuggler so they could prove themselves worthy of serving her for a year...that it was best not to think about it too much.

"Huh?" Alessa looked up, holding a small packet in her hand.

"The merchant. Do you think he has food there? We're out of supplies and I don't think we can count on Uncle Gamlen."

"He might. We should check. Although I don't know what the proper protocol is when one beats an overdue payment out of someone else. I guess we might as well steal food too, we can't really make a worse impression than we're going to."

Beth sighed. "I'm just hungry."

"If he doesn't cough up Athenril's coin, maybe we can eat him."

"Alessa!"

"It's supposed to taste like chicken."

Bethany clapped her hands over her ears. "I'm not listening."

"What? There were some ancient cultures that considered being eaten a high honor."

"Oh, shut up and let's get this done before I set your hair on fire," Bethany growled.

"Again?"

Beth glared at her as they started across the courtyard. "That was years ago and it only happened once!"

Alessa gave her a quick, mischievous grin. There were times Bethany found it impossible to tell when her sister was serious or joking, whether she honestly didn't get something or was just pretending not to, but she knew that grin and realized her mind had been taken off of worrying about what they were about to do. "Sneaky."

"What do you say? We go in swinging or try being polite first?"

Bethany just gave her a look.

"Right then, make nice first." Alessa headed for the merchant's table.

* * *

_The boy had broken way from the rest of his unit and drawn the darkspawn away before they could ambush. By pure luck, they'd fallen for the distraction and missed the other soldiers hiding in the woods._

_It had been a wild, brave, and utterly idiotic act and if Carver Hawke had been under Aveline's command, she would have ripped him a new one for doing it._

_He wasn't under her command, however, so all she could really do was watch him with narrow eyes as he entered the infirmary tent. The boy wasn't quite strutting but he looked like he was thinking about it. He came up to where his sister was tending to an unconscious soldier on a cot across from the one Aveline was sitting on._

_Alessa Hawke spoke without looking up. "Sounds like you created quite a stir today, brother mine." She poured what smelled like alcohol of some kind on the half stitched wound and Aveline winced, thinking it was a good thing the man was unconscious._

" _You heard already? That was fast, I didn't see you on the battlefield." He sounded pleased but there was an odd note, almost challenging, in his voice._

_If she noticed the tone of his voice, she was obviously too tired to react to it. There were dark circles under those strange eyes of hers, and her face was drawn. They had lost amazingly few men in the last few battles but they had plenty of injuries and only a few people to tend to them until the rest of the army arrived. At the moment, only Hawke and one of the Circle mages were around. Hawke nodded, finally looking up at him. "Word travels. Everyone seems to be split fifty-fifty over whether you're a hero or an idiot."_

" _There are a lot more leaning toward idiot, believe me," Aveline growled. Both of them turned their heads to look at her. Carver scowled at her. He started to say something, but his sister nudged him in warning._

_Such an odd pair. There had been many murmurs of surprise when Alessa Hawke had shown up to enlist when the Blight started. Carver had been with the king's army for a couple of years, never under Aveline's command but they crossed paths enough she had made a note to keep an eye on him. His skills with a blade couldn't be faulted in the slightest, but he was also young and brash with far more courage than sense. She was surprised he'd lasted this long. Usually the ones with something to prove broke one way or another fairly soon, and the ones who wanted to be heroes even sooner. But apparently Carver was made of tougher stuff than he first appeared to be. He'd been reprimanded a few times for not following orders or doing something risky but he managed to stop just short of doing something that would get him thrown out. Or killed. Or someone else killed. But sooner or later, Aveline was afraid he'd cross that line._

_From the way he acted and things he said...or had not said...she had assumed he didn't have a family. Apparently she wasn't the only one; even his friends hadn't known he had a sister._

Now, of course, Aveline knew precisely why Carver had been so careful not to mention his family, to not bring any attention to them. His father was beyond the Templars' reach now, but the rest of them weren't. She felt a slight pang. Even with the pain of losing Wesley still fresh, she felt sadness for Carver as well. He'd been young and foolish, but she knew he had been, at heart, a good lad who could have grown into a fine man. In fact, she wished Wesley could have gotten to know him better. This strange apostate family wasn't anything like they were supposed to be.

Of all families to owe a debt to...

Aveline watched the sisters cross the courtyard. When she realized where they were headed, she glanced around and started after them, her fingers resting on the hilt of her sword. When their slimy uncle had sold them into service in order to get them and their mother into the city, they hadn't even hesitated to take on responsibility for getting her in too. She had little options at this point than to accept.

She was making a guess that their beeline for that particular merchant had something to do with the smuggler she'd seen Hawke speaking to earlier. She actually hoped that was the case; she had a bone to pick with that particular merchant. Cavril, she thought his name was. He'd been brought in to buy and sell to the Ferelden refugees and the man was cheating them every chance he got. Aveline had been watching him take advantage of desperate families for the past couple of days with increasing anger. She'd been on the verge of asking Hawke- who she had caught watching him a couple of times with a thoughtful expression that rarely boded well for the person on the receiving end of it -to help her confront him but apparently that wouldn't be needed. She wasn't required to join up with the smuggler, but she didn't have to join her to help the girls out.

Hawke was speaking to the merchant but Aveline could already see the fight coming. It was in the way the man looked down at her and sneered. She couldn't blame him for not considering her a threat. They didn't look like Ferelden women born and bred. Hawke looked like she'd shatter if you breathed on her too hard and Bethany didn't look much tougher. The man wouldn't have any way of knowing both girls had taken down darkspawn that would have torn him apart.

Aveline drew her sword as the merchant motioned arrogantly to his bodyguards and they stepped forward. One of them menaced Hawke with his sword and she calmly raised her hand, palm up and appeared to blow something from it. The mercenary reeled back, clawing at the visor covering his face.

Cavril let out a shocked yell and the other mercenary lunged forward. Bethany was already bringing her staff up but Aveline was there, metal screeching against metal as she blocked his blow. Bethany looked over, startled, but ducked out of the way. The mercenary snarled and turned his attention to Aveline, lunging at her. He wasn't very good, she noted as the blocked another blow, her mind coolly assessing. He was a thug used to menacing people who couldn't fight back, she'd wager. Good for a barroom brawl, but it was apparent to all involved he wasn't up to a fight with a trained soldier.

His companion was still coughing and choking, struggling to get his helmet off. He whirled away and Hawke kicked him hard in the back both knees in rapid succession. _With someone like me, it's not a matter of how hard you hit 'em as much as_ where _you hit 'em,_ she'd told Aveline wryly.

The one Aveline was fighting lunged at her, seemingly hoping to take her down. Idiot. She threw him back and disarmed him with a flick of her wrist, driving the pommel of her sword into the back of his neck. He collapsed bonelessly to the ground and didn't get up again.

Bethany was holding the end of her staff, the tip of which was sharpened into a point, beneath the chin of the other mercenary. Hawke glanced over to make sure Aveline was all right and pulled the back of his helmet up, knocking him out pretty much the same way Aveline had done to his compatriot.

"Hello, Aveline," Hawke said as she climbed to her feet. She turned to where Cavril was standing, his face white as a sheet, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's. He was obviously having a hard time registering the fact he and his well paid mercenaries had just been brought low by three Ferelden women. Aveline helped bring the fact home, calmly placing the tip of her sword at his throat and forcing him to tip his head back.

"I don't see why you're so testy about all this," Hawke said. She was studying a chest the merchant had tucked neatly beneath his table. "Athenril did you a service, so she gets paid for it. Simple. Oldest type of transaction there is. Well, second oldest but I don't think she'll accept sex instead of goods."

"Alessa," Bethany groaned.

"What?" Hawke started rummaging around in his pockets until she pulled a key out. Cavril made a sound of protest and Aveline merely raised an eyebrow in warning.

Hawke opened the chest, poking through it.

"You realize I can have the guards come down on you full force?" The merchant spoke through gritted teeth, anger and humiliation turning his face red.

"You're not going to run to the guards and tell them you got beat up by a bunch of girls," Hawke said without looking up.

Aveline chuckled at the look on Cavril's face.

The merchant clenched his hands into fists. "Fine, take it. It should be enough to pay off that witch."

"Well, now that we have your permission," Bethany said sarcastically. Hawke shut the lid of the chest and simply hefted it up with a grunt. Aveline lowered her sword but kept it out, backing away, keeping herself between Cavril and the Hawke sisters. She only sheathed her sword when they were out of reach.

"I'm out of here...let them find someone else to buy Dogland junk," he sneered just loud enough for them to hear. He was ignored.

"Dogland," Aveline snorted, shaking her head.

"He wouldn't say it in that tone of voice if one of said dogs was actually here," Bethany said.

"His tone of voice would be particularly higher considering what area of him _I_ would send the dog after," Aveline said, her voice dry. She felt a hint of a true smile, the first she'd cracked in weeks, curve her lips as the sisters' laughter echoed across the courtyard.

* * *

"Are you sure you'll be all right, Aveline?" Hawke kept glancing at the bent, tortured forms of the statues around the Gallows. She clearly didn't like them at all, a sentiment Aveline fully agreed with.

She turned her gaze from those twisted forms of bronze and looked down at Hawke. "Your uncle is showing enough ill grace letting his _family_ stay with him, I don't think he'll welcome me too. I have some coin yet."

"Athenril would probably take you on, you know. She was really impressed by you."

"No offense, Hawke, but I think I'll take my chances trying to find some lawful work. But know you have my help if you have need of me. I owe you that much."

Hawke waved that away. "Just...be careful...this place is so different from Ferelden..." She frowned up at the buildings of Kirkwall looming above them.

"I could say the same thing to you. You're not exactly going to be running with good company for the next year."

She shrugged. The girl was far more unperturbed than Aveline would have been had their situations been reversed. "It's a foot in the door."

Aveline couldn't argue with that one. "Take care of yourself, Hawke, I'll see you around."

Hawke nodded and started back toward her family.

Aveline had already turned away when she remembered a question she'd wanted to ask. "Hawke?"

Hawke paused and turned to look at her.

Aveline cocked her head. "What exactly did you toss on that mercenary to make him stagger like that? Back there at Cavril's table?"

"Oh, that. It was ground pepper. I blew it into his eyes through his visor."

Aveline stared at her. "Pepper."

Hawke grinned. "A simple but very effective deterrent for unwanted attention." She waved cheerfully and trotted back to where her family was waiting.

Aveline felt a real smile curve her lips for the second time in less than an hour. Maybe things were looking up after all.

* * *

Guard-Captain Jeven could trace most of his problems...and at that point in his life they were piling up...back to his own decisions and mistakes.

There was no point in trying to convince him of that.

It wasn't _really_ his fault, for instance, that he'd had to let the Coterie get a foothold in the Guard. Being Guard-Captain in Kirkwall as a stressful job, what with the incompetence beneath him and the Templars eyeing him from above. It was the Templars' fault, really. He'd incurred the wrath of one of them the same night he'd gotten banned from The Blooming Rose when he'd gotten a _little_ too rough with one of the whores. And he'd only done that because she was playing favorites with that damned Templar even though Jeven tipped her better.

Barred from the only good whorehouse, gambling and drinking were all he had to keep sane, and all that went through the Coterie.

So it followed that when he looked back upon what he considered the biggest mistake of his life-bringing Aveline Vallen into the Guard -it was her fault.

He'd actually heard a little bit about her even before she walked into the barracks. There were Ferelden refugees crawling over the city like ants but when one of them up and left a thief in an unconscious heap at the guards' doorstep...well, that made them sit up and take notice.

Jeven wouldn't have pegged her for a refugee from anywhere; she certainly didn't act like one. One of his men had pointed her out as she walked in with entirely too much confidence than was decent for a woman and calmly asked to apply.

Of course it was ridiculous. A Dogland leech in the city guard? And yet...

Jeven studied her as she went through the rigmarole of signing up and speaking to the guard at desk duty. She was one of those big, scary barbarian women that seemed to be what Ferelden was known for, along with their strange obsession with their hounds. Tall, well built, red hair held severely back from an angular face. He found it hard to believe Andraste could be any great beauty when she'd come from Ferelden. The refugee carried a sword and from the way she moved, he was willing to guess she knew how to use it.

Recently he'd found the need to have an inner circle of men he could trust to be bought and keep their mouths shut. He was working on getting one in nearly every aspect of the Guard from administrative to patrols. But such people had to be _very_ carefully selected. It was vital that they have as much at stake in his little entrepreneurial side jobs as he did. Usually they either needed extra money or were just more...flexible...in mind than the others of the guard

Or they owed him something.

Yes, if he played it right, he could make it work. She was really quite attractive, she could make a good figurehead for more delicate matters. He could even make himself look really good for bringing her on, make himself look gracious and diplomatic. He'd have to be subtle about it, of course, but he was fairly certain he could pull it off.

And wouldn't she be grateful? Grateful enough to accept a little extra on the side...not as much as the men already on his payroll, of course...or perhaps a minor promotion, in exchange for a bit of help here and there?

Jeven started to smile as the woman left and the desk clerk set the application in the box of papers to be delivered to him as Guard-Captain. Why not? A refugee like her...what did she really have to offer anyone? What could she do that a Kirkwall born guard could not? No home, no prospects, no connection to anyone worth knowing. Certainly she would be no threat to _him_. Even if she found out about his operations and proved ungrateful, who would believe her?

Yes, if he played his cards right, he could have himself...he chuckled at his own wit...a loyal dog indeed.


	4. Interlude: A Letter to the Empress

_Majesty,_

_I am very sorry to have to disappoint you, my lady, but next to nothing could be recovered from the Lowtown Museum and the Templars have been vague as to what exactly happened that caused the destruction._

_May I once again thank you for your magnificent generosity in allowing us to keep Lady Hawke's journals in the University's library. To show our boundless gratitude, I have had a package delivered with this letter. Within it, we have enclosed reprinted copies of the journals for your personal library. I have bound and edited the journals myself, I hope you trust me enough to feel confident I edited them to make them easier to read while still preserving Hawke's unique style. As I'm sure you know, I was very fond of her myself and we corresponded regularly after her visit here. Many of the theories and such that you will find within the journals I discussed with her myself._

_Most of them are from her early days at Kirkwall and the years surrounding the opening of the museum. I regret, again, to inform you that if she kept a journal the final year leading up to the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry and her flight from Kirkwall not long after, we have been unable to find it._

_Most of the editing I did was simply a bit of cleaning up. As you noted, Hawke tended to use them for purely academic purposes rather than personal ones, though her personal entries and notes are still there. Mostly, I simply took out a lot of the extensive mathematics that tended to take up pages and her notes on translation attempts. The most relevant ones I kept alongside whatever it was she was trying to figure out at the time. Should you wish to see them in their entirety, of course, the originals are always open for your perusal._

_I'm afraid you'll find some odd discrepancies here and there. Some of these journals were delivered to us by Master Haze, who took them when he left Kirkwall, and the rest were sent to us anonymously (my guess is Varric Tethras, personally). In both cases, several pages had been torn out of the journals and Haze (who I vouch for, your Majesty, he wouldn't lie about this) has informed me that he doesn't know who tore them out._

_Regarding what is missing:_

_1- As you know, Hawke made some highly controversial points and examples referring to her belief that everyone has at least a small measure of magical talent whether they use it consciously or unconsciously. I spoke with her on the subject extensively and I know for a fact she and her sister worked together observing the citizens of Kirkwall over the years. However, beyond a few comments, there is nothing in the journals about her studies. It is my belief that most, if not all, of the pages torn out, had something to do with this subject._

_2- Haze remembers reading several of her entries regarding Sandal Feddic. She had several notes about Sandal's talent as well as things he said over the years, but Haze mentioned she was very closed mouthed about talking about him out loud, especially in the later years. His 'prophecy' is one of the things left about him in the journals. Since the Templars showing an inordinate amount of interest in Sandal was one of the reasons they left Kirkwall, I'm relatively certain that Hawke herself tore these out in order to protect him._

_3- I have included many of her letters to various scholars including several of our letters back and forth. However, all her letters to the dwarven archeologist Silandry "Sil" Marath, who was a close friend of Hawke's, are gone. All of them. Again, I think Hawke either destroyed them or took them with her to prevent them from being used against Serrah Marath, especially after the Chantry denounced her._

_Despite the loss of some of her more infamous work, these journals have the core of Hawke's thoughts and methods, as well as some personal insights she revealed little of out loud to even her friends. My thanks again for your generosity, my lady._

_Your Faithful Servant,_

_Priam Delcor, Dean of Students_


	5. The Hanged Man

" _You can love or hate Varric all you want, but whichever it is, you have to admit there's no one quite like him._ "

**-Alessa Hawke**

* * *

**9:40 Dragon**

_Once he left the Hawke Estate, tale told, Varric had to keep to the shadows in order to avoid battles on the streets. Up until about a year ago, the templars who had been sent to restore order in Kirkwall had still had control over it but then a group of mages had returned to the spot where the revolution had started to take it back._

_Kirkwall had never really been a peaceful city but now it was a three way battleground between the mages, the templars, and the people caught in the middle just trying to keep their city from completely falling apart. There weren't many of those left. Most people had fled after their Champion had been driven out._

_Now_ that _had been an epic chase. He hadn't even needed to exaggerate it._

_They had all seen it coming. At first, Hawke's presence had been the only thing helping keep things under control but there were still whispers and rumors that tipped the balance away from her, especially among the nobles. He'd warned her making so many enemies and spitting in the face of the upper class of Kirkwall would come back to bite her in the ass some day. Then the Gallows had been destroyed and Bethany had suddenly disappeared right after it, which made those whispers outright accusations. When the templars had arrived, it was only a matter of time. She'd only given in and had been preparing to leave a day before they marched en masse on the Hawke Estate._

_Varric paused in the echoing remains of the Hightown Market, tipping his head back. Rising above the rooftops was a skeleton of scaffolds and support beams. They had only started rebuilding the Chantry and had never gotten around to finishing it. Like the Viscount's Keep, there were too many memories. If he tried, he could see the faint phantom of Hawke framed against that abandoned skeleton, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, racing along a zig zagging path like she had in her early days of Kirkwall, tearing through Hightown with an acrobatic grace the templars in their heavy armor couldn't hope to match. It was a good thing Fenris had been in Lowtown at that moment, otherwise it would have been a bloodbath._

_Varric wasn't entirely sure how she'd made it to Lowtown; he had to get out of there quick and trust she would make it so he could have a hiding place ready for her. Once she'd hit Lowtown, the templars and mercenaries hired by some of the nobles had slammed against a wall of sullen silence. The people of Lowtown, still reeling from the destruction of the museum, had seen nothing, heard nothing, knew nothing about their Champion being there. Anyone tempted to sell her out had been too afraid of retaliation, which didn't last, of course, but it bought enough time._

_Hawke had never been one for tears- tough and practical even in the worst of times -but they had filled her eyes when she'd left the next night and he'd shown her the things he had managed to smuggle out of the estate under the templar's noses. Not only what she had packed but some of the things he just could not leave in the templar's possession, even if she couldn't take them with her._

_Varric sighed, turning away to look over the empty merchant stalls and closed buildings. He found himself wandering and didn't realize where his feet were taking him at first. When he figured it out, he felt a weight press down on him, already knowing what he was probably going to find. He drew on happier memories in defense as he followed a meandering path across the broken stones of the streets._

_Phantoms from easier times._

_Here, at the edge of the market, he could see Leandra Hawke, heading back to the estate with a basket of groceries over her arm. She would smile at him warmly as she always did when they crossed paths like that and insist he take a pastry or a piece of fruit from the basket. Hawke and Bethany may have gotten their greatest talents from Malcolm Hawke but that generosity of spirit both of them had was their mother's gift to them._

_There he could see Hawke coming out of the apothecary shop she favored and darting down the street, a carelessly dressed enigma with no sense of decorum among the oh so carefully dressed and pressed people of Hightown. Or if he looked down the road he could see the edge of the Hawke Estate's grounds where she was so often out working in the gardens. She would pause and wave at him and tell him to wait inside while she scrambled down to the wine cellar to get him something to drink, since she never had been able to hook him on tea. Sometimes Bethany, having snuck out of the Gallows for a bit, would be inside, her pretty face alight when she waved at him._

_The Blooming Rose appeared to still be in operation but the activity was a lot more subdued. He could remember the called greetings from some of the freelance whores and see Isabela come swaggering out the doors like she owned the place with that cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on her lips._

_He caught sight of an overgrown alcove down the street from Fenris's mansion and a smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. He never would have thought Fenris would be in the center of one of the rare peaceful moments in the last years but a glimpse...a chance glance over at the right moment and he'd seen the two of them in that spot. Fenris and Hawke, half in the shadows, blind to anything but each other, the elf cradling her face between his hands, his forehead resting softly against hers. A calm stillness had seemed to surround them, spiraling out to the rest of the city. Even passerby just couldn't seem to be offended._

_Varric walked down the stairs slowly. Lowtown was even quieter than Hightown, anyone left obviously hiding. He couldn't even pick out thieves moving about in the shadows._

_Somehow, a part of him had been hoping against hope, so it was a blow when he finally came to it and saw the state it was in._

_His favorite place in the world._

_The tavern known as The Hanged Man, that Varric had once called home, was dark and abandoned. The door had been torn off and set haphazardly across the entrance in an attempt to block it. The windows gaped with shattered glass, like mouths full of broken teeth._

_The dwarf moved forward with almost painful slowness, carefully nudging the door aside. He stood in the doorway, taking in the overturned tables, the broken shelves behind the bar. He thought maybe he'd find vagrants had taken up the place as a refuge but he couldn't see or hear anyone around._

_He had more memories here than any other place in Kirkwall. He turned his head to study the table off to the side he'd favored for games of Wicked Grace. He'd always sat in the chair nearest the wall, back to it, so he could take in the rest of the tavern. Also, he had the distinct advantage in that seat of being able to scan around the table with little more than a glance._

_Usually Fenris was in the next seat over. In the earlier years, he would have been alert, eyes flicking toward the entrance any time someone came in, but later on he'd relaxed a bit more, enough he was more willing to put his focus on the game. That meant trouble for Anders, who never quite got the hang of bluffing, and Fenris was far less inclined to go easy on him than the rest of them. Isabela generally took up two chairs for herself, sprawled in one with her feet propped up on the other. Hawke, of course, wasn't allowed to play after the first few times. Little Miss 'Calculates what everyone has after a few hands'. It was their eternal argument to this day whether that card counting was cheating or not. She tended to sit at the end of the table and watch them, usually with a book or one of her charts or one of the latest treatises from the University. Sometimes she would help Anders out by discussing the latest medical technique or oddity with him, usually something gross that would distract everyone with trying to get her to shut up, which gave Anders a chance to catch up a bit. He'd also caught her helping Merril cheat a few times but hadn't called her on it, because if anyone was a worse bluffer than Anders, it was Daisy. Besides, she only helped Merril to cheat when he wasn't in a position to do it. Merril would usually be next to Hawke or Aveline when she was off duty. If not, she'd be in Isabela's propping chair, her lap serving as the cushion for the pirate's feet rather than the chair seat._

_And how they had all changed over the years. Aveline becoming more easy and relaxed after her marriage. Anders showing up less and less and looking more and more drawn and haunted over the years. Merril always looking a bit lost and sad until the last year or so, after she'd been rid of that damned mirror. It was like something had released its hold on her soul, leaving her adrift but slowly allowing her to piece a life back together. Depending on what stage they were in their considerably long and winding relationship, Fenris and Hawke would either have been catching each other's glances across the table or putting a great deal of energy in not looking at each other._

_He'd gotten to know all of them here. Had met most of them here, even Hawke. Well, he'd_ seen _her for the first time here, anyway._

_Varric looked around with a faint, wistful smile. He could see the waitresses, Norah and Edwina, moving through the tables. Corff behind the bar, cleaning the glasses...one of the few things he managed to keep clean. Ser Thrask and Gallard and several of his long term card playing and drinking buddies hanging out around the table. Thrask was the decent sort of templar...they were rare even in those days. Never putting on airs or too good to hang out with the commoners of Kirkwall. Always up for a laugh and a drink._

_Always willing to give a_

"...heads up, Varric," Ser Thrask muttered.

Varric Tethras glanced up from his cards and rolled his eyes as Damik strutted across the floor of the Hanged Man. Ever since Athenril had promoted him, the elf had been putting on more airs than a newly made Paragon.

Varric looked back down at his cards as Damik swaggered up to the table. "You in, Thrask?"

The templar took a drink and nodded, the other players at the table either throwing in or laying their cards down. A few glances shot Damik's way, taking in his increasing irritation when no one paid him any heed. Varric knew from experience that ignoring him would not make him go away but it was the principle of the thing.

He brightened up when Corin came up behind Damik. Maybe this would be fun, after all. Unlike most of Athenril's crew, he got along with Corin quite well. Probably because they shared the dubious career of 'professional younger brother': Varric to Bartrand and Corin to Athenril.

The elf shot him a grin, knowing full well what he was doing. Since he didn't like Damik anymore than Varric (or anyone, really) did, he was obviously enjoying it. He spoke up before Damik could. "Small hoard you got there, Varric, are you actually playing fair tonight?"

"Hey now, I always play fair." Varric ignored the chorus of disbelieving snorts and laughs around the table, laying his cards down and turning toward them.

"Your family is hard to get in contact with, Tethras," Damik said, looking down his nose at him. Varric guessed no one had told him that looking down your nose at a dwarf was kind of a wasted gesture.

"If you mean Athenril is having a hard time getting hold of Bartrand, he's been out of town on and off. He's got a lot of planning to do." The words were meant for Damik but Varric kept his eyes in Corin's direction. The fact he knew it would annoy Damik was a good bonus but it was the figure standing just behind Corin that had caught his attention.

One of the things Varric loved most about the Hanged Man was he didn't need to do anything more than sit and wait for inspiration. Most of the characters that wound up in his stories had their humble beginnings in some man or woman passing through the tavern. People would make it a point to come in and buy him a drink on the off chance they would end up in one of them.

This little slip of a human with the mismatched eyes showed some serious promise- maybe as a sidekick character in an adventure -and he didn't even know her yet. A human on Athenril's crew wasn't that unusual, though she favored elves for obvious reasons, but the fact she was a human here with Corin and Damik _was_ unusual. Her expression was bland but her eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked between him and Damik.

"Athenril isn't the one who wants to talk to him," Damik said pointedly. Varric turned his attention back to him. That explained why Corin had come along. This wasn't a visit ordered by Athenril, it was from their mother. Pissing off Damik was fun but he didn't want to get on the bad side of the real power behind the scenes. "So why does she need to talk to Bartrand, exactly?" he asked.

"Why is has he been sending people out checking hidden coves and underground passages? Exactly?" Damik's voice had taken on a hard edge. Corin raised an eyebrow and half turned, murmuring something to the human. Her lips quirked and she gave a slight shake of her head.

"Ah, Madam is afraid the Merchant Guild is trying to step on her toes?" Varric ventured.

Damik looked insulted but before he could speak, Corin interrupted him, "That's pretty much it, yes."

Varric considered for a long few moments, trying to decide whether to lie or speak truthfully. He finally decided the truth was going to come out soon enough anyway, there were already rumors. "He's trying to find an entrance into the Deep Roads."

The table went very quiet. Damik stared at him speechlessly and Corin's eyebrows winged up. The human girl cocked her head, eyeing him with interest now. That was obviously not the answer any of them had been expecting, Varric noted, pleased with himself. Damik eyed him with a healthy dose of skepticism. "The Deep Roads."

Varric shrugged. "They're about as empty as they've ever been or ever going to be. Lots of dwarven ruins in the Deep Roads...and opportunity for serious profit."

"Your brother has finally lost his mind," Corin said with a sort of wondering admiration.

"Possibly," Varric agreed. He pushed a chair out with one foot in invitation. "Have a seat, pick up a hand, I'll tell you all about it."

Damik considered for a moment, and then turned to look at the human girl. "Wait for us outside, Hawke."

His tone was imperious, insulting as a backhand slap, but it seemed to simply brush right on over the girl. She nodded easily and turned to go without a word, which Varric silently applauded her for, because there was nothing better she could have done to annoy Damik. To add onto it, as Damik sat down, Corin reached a hand out to stop the girl. "Actually, I need to talk to you, Alessa. We'll just wait for you at the bar, Damik, I leave this to your capable hands."

He caught Varric's eye as he swept away and the dwarf tipped his glass toward him ever so slightly in a small salute.

Since interrupting Damik before he could get going was the fun activity of the day, he continued: "Rare to see a human accompanying you on these messenger boy errands of yours, Damik."

He saw Gallard bite back a smirk out of the corner of his eye. There was little love lost between Athenril's crew and the Coterie.

Damik bristled and glared over shoulder. "Corin brought her along, not me. Her brain is as scrambled as her eyes. Corin is just a sucker for a pretty face."

Remembering the sharp amusement in her eyes when she'd looked at Damik, Varric motioned to the waitress to order a round of drinks without answering. _If she's just a pretty face, I'm a pregnant nug._

"Hawke...I know that name..." Thrask said suddenly, sounding thoughtful. "I can't remember where I heard it."

"Malcolm Hawke," Old Fess, a former smuggler, supplied as he tossed a coin in. "Worked for the Crimson Oars many years back. Ran off with one of the Amell daughters."

"Ah, so that's one of the nieces Gamlen has been bitching about," Gallard snorted. "You can't be in his presence for more than ten seconds without him going on about his house being taken over by females."

"If they all look like her, they can take over my house anytime they like..." Fess leered.

"They look even better. I've seen them at Gamlen's place. Leandra is as lovely as she ever was and the other daughter takes after her," Corff said as he brought their drinks.

"Yeah, but you always had a thing for Leandra Amell, Corff, even when you worked for them," Fess said slyly. "Looks like her husband didn't survive the Blight, maybe now you have a shot!"

Corff blushed and hurried back toward the bar, muttering something under his breath.

Damik spoke up amid the chuckles, obviously wanting to get back on track. "So...the Deep Roads, eh?"

Varric smiled and made it a point to deal him a hand, pushing a mug of ale toward him. "Let no one say my dear brother isn't ambitious."

* * *

"He's going to get robbed blind, isn't he?" Hawke murmured, leaning back against the bar.

"Yes, he is." Corin grinned with malicious enjoyment. He took a drink, hazel eyes never leaving the table. "He'd have trouble bluffing a two year old, much less Varric Tethras."

She nodded, her eyes on the dwarf. He wasn't at all what she had expected. Not that she'd been able to get a straight description from anyone about him. Everyone had a different story. Varric the tale-spinner, the lazy younger brother of House Tethras. She guessed she had expected him to be more pretentious, like others she'd encountered from the Merchant's Guild. Instead, he seemed more down to earth than anyone she'd met. "Do you think he's telling the truth about going to the Deep Roads?"

"Sure, but then again, I told Mother they weren't trying to move in on us in the first place." He glanced over and started chuckling. "You have that gleam in your eye, Alessa."

"There are so many ruins in the Deep Roads..."

"You've been hanging around Sil again, I see."

"She has so many stories of the ruins she's found! She says there are tunnels below the Deep Roads that predate the dwarves!"

"Oh, she's been telling you some of her oh, so famous secrets, then?"

"Not really. I think she mostly tells me stuff just to get rid of me, she considers me a pest."

Corin laughed. "Well, it's bound to take the Tethras brothers a few months to put an expedition like that together, maybe you can get in on it. If you're crazy enough. I'm definitely passing on that, even if he's right about there being not much darkspawn there now."

"He probably is, they're all out eating my homeland," Alessa said, sobering.

Corin winced. "Shit. Sorry, Alessa."

"It's all right. A lot of them are dying too, that always cheers me up."

"The word coming in lately is they actually took the Archdemon down," he offered.

She looked over at him, startled. That was news to her. "Good. I'd heard they killed that whoreson Loghain and put a true heir on the throne but news kind of trickled off after that."

The cold anger in her voice had Corin raising his eyebrows. It was rare to hear emotion that strong from Alessa. "You really hate him."

"It's hard not to," she murmured, glancing away.

The Hawke siblings were Ferelden born and bred, and had therefore grown up on stories of Loghain Mac Tir. He wasn't just a hero, he was _the_ hero, the highest example of everything that was good about their country. Carver had practically worshiped him; he was everything her brother had aspired and longed to be. Alessa was willing to bet the brief moment Carver had come face to face with his idol had been one of the best in his life.

Being called to Ostagar to fight alongside him and the king had been an honor for both of them.

And he had betrayed them all.

There had been a brief moment of joy and hope when that beacon had gone up atop the Tower of Ishal. She remembered turning, expectant, waiting to see Loghain's troops sweep in and catch the bloody beasts by surprise.

It had never happened.

It had been sheer, blind luck she'd been up on one of the upper levels, scouting out and reporting where a new attack was forming and firing down into the horde below with a bow and arrow. Not her strongest point, but she knew enough she was able to hit the darkspawn instead of their own people.

She'd seen the line of shining, armored troops moving _away_ from the battle through her spyglass. She'd had only a moment to stare, stunned, before they were overwhelmed.

She had seen King Cailan die with her own eyes. Her flight down to the lower levels had allowed her to see and hear when the darkspawn hit the medical tent, slaughtering the wounded inside. Their terrified screams would haunt her for the rest of her life. She didn't remember much about the fight, she had been going on pure survival instinct and an overwhelming chant in her head: _Find Carver. Run._

Carver told her later everyone had been following her as they fled through the woods but she hadn't made any attempt to command anyone. With knowledge of the horde coming up behind them, she'd done the only thing she could think to do: get to Lothering...and their family...before the darkspawn did. They'd spread out, the survivors, heading in every direction to spread the word. She and Carver had headed home, only stopping to rest for a few hours and to warn anyone they came across to flee.

They had arrived with mere hours to spare. Had taken their mother and sister and fled. Had watched Carver die in a horrible mimicry of the king's death.

And just when they had arrived in Kirkwall, when they were starting to put the nightmare behind them, the stories had started coming in. The civil war that tore the country apart even as the darkspawn closed in. Loghain seemed bound and determined to destroy the country he was proclaiming to save.

Did she hate him? Maybe not...it was hard to hate so distant a figure. But she did blame him and had not been sorry to hear he had died.

Fingers brushed her cheek softly and she blinked, drawn out of a morass of memories to meet Corin's eyes. "Hey..." His voice was soft. "Rare thing to see that kind of look in your eyes, I didn't mean to dredge all that up again."

"It's easy to say you're making a necessary sacrifice for the good of the country when you're standing on a hill far away. Not so easy to see from his point of view when you're the one being sacrificed. But, it's over..." Her voice was equally soft. "We survived, we got away. It makes no sense that it still haunts me."

"Things rarely make sense, especially you, my dear." Alessa slanted a look at him that made him laugh. "Come now, a prized pupil of mine has to focus on the present."

Hawke tried to shake her melancholy thoughts away, taking a drink and raising her eyebrows at him. "Better not let your mother or your sister hear you saying that."

"I could say the same thing to you." Corin grinned, laid coins on the bar and slid off the barstool, extending a hand to her to help her down. "I know everything I need to. Bartrand isn't making a move on our territory. Let Damik make an idiot of himself trying to find out otherwise."

Damik didn't even notice them leaving as Corin guided her outside. Hawke glanced over one more time. "You trust Varric's word, then?"

"On this? Yes." Corin shrugged. "The Merchant's Guild has a finger in every pie in Kirkwall. We're not a threat to them...not yet anyway...and they know it."

"Watch it, Corin, that was almost smart, you'll ruin your reputation."

He grabbed for her and she ducked into the shadows of an alley, laughing. She heard him applaud lightly, approving on how fast she'd managed to disappear. Then, of course, he flipped everything around and disappeared so fast she barely had time to turn before he pinned her to the wall.

It had started out with him simply showing her some techniques to refine her skills, which she'd been more than eager to learn. She'd seen Corin do amazing things. The elf could appear to vanish into thin air, darting from shadow to shadow before an enemy even knew he was there. Later, she learned he had been testing her out, that those techniques were part of an unorganized school of them simply called Shadow.

It had been a bit of a blow to her pride to realize how much she needed someone to help her discipline herself. Everything she'd learned had come in bits and pieces over the course of her life; an uneven mishmash of gathered skills. She'd learned herb lore, for instance, and some healing from a traveling apothecary in a caravan they'd traveled with for a while, cooking from an innkeeper she and Mother had worked for a little while in Denerim, how to do flips and acrobatics from a troupe of performers outside Redcliffe, and techniques on fighting with her hands and feet from a strange old man who occasionally settled in an old shack on the outskirts of Lothering in the summer. And from Father...ah, Father...her father had taught her how to read, to write, to always pay attention to her dreams, to observe and take in everything around her. But the life they led had also taught her things he'd never fully approved of. How to pick pockets and locks, how to use poison, how to use alchemy to make clouds of smoke and powder that ignited. She prayed Father would understand that it was these hard learned skills that served them well in Athenril's crew. She would have been a fool to pass up learning how to refine and use them properly under the tutelage of someone as skilled as Corin.

Even if his motivations behind it weren't entirely professional...

"You're getting better every day," Corin murmured. "If you learn a little faster, I might be tempted to convince Mother to help me with some of our more...delicate tasks up in Hightown..."

He made no move to release her and Alessa felt a pleasant shiver go through her when she tipped her head back to look at him. It was the clear invitation, the 'let's play' challenge in those hazel eyes that had Athenril shooting her disapproving looks lately, making pointed remarks to her brother about their mother not liking his 'thing for humans'. It was stupid to risk making Athenril- or worse, her mother -angry. You couldn't take Corin seriously in any way and nothing between them would last. Stupid to play with fire with her boss for a bit of fun...except it had been a while since she'd had a lover. And it would probably be _very_ fun.

She smiled up at him, carefully twisting her wrists in his grasp, her body brushing ever so lightly against his as she jerked her hands free and ducked beneath his arm, laughing. "Maybe if you teach a little better, I'll learn more."

"Ah, Hawke, there's so many things I can teach you..." His voice was a purr as he stepped away from the wall.

"We'll see..." She gave him a wicked grin over her shoulder, disappearing into the night with a cheerful wave that had Corin chuckling.

Playing with fire indeed.

* * *

Bethany sat at the front window of Gamlen's house and waited for Alessa to come home, a bowl of stew balanced on her knee. She rubbed the sore spot on her ribs absently, the result of a lucky blow from some Coterie thugs that had surprised them at the Docks last night. Alessa had looked her over about half a dozen times until she assured them all she didn't have any broken ribs but a large, nasty bruise had formed there. Mother had fretted about it so much that she'd agreed to stay home tonight.

She hadn't needed much convincing. Alessa might have taken to their new lot in life- even Father, who had traveled on the outside of law and Chantry for most of his life was a bit worried at how eagerly Alessa did the same thing -but Beth was counting the days until they no longer had to work for Athenril. To be fair, Athenril actually had a sense of honor. But she was still a smuggler and the fact they spent most of their nights on the other side of the law in a city full of templars just added more stress.

Living with Uncle Gamlen wasn't helping, either.

Bethany took a bite of the cooling stew and grimaced as she listened to her uncle complaining bitterly to her mother. Again. Uncle Gamlen _always_ had something to complain about. Usually about the extra risk or harboring a mage or calling Alessa a troublemaker. Or about money. Always that. Apparently he thought giving them shelter meant Mother should just sit back and let him jab at her whenever he was kicked out of a tavern or the gambling houses put pressure on him. He was always poking about them favoring him with some coin or buying food or something else they should be doing to ease his suffering. And he never missed an opportunity to remind Mother that she'd lost their parents' respect when she had run off with Father.

Like they didn't give what little coin they made on side jobs to him, Beth thought resentfully. Like she didn't take every precaution to keep a low profile. Like he wasn't whining about them eating him out of house and home while eating stew Alessa had made sure to make before she'd left for whatever Athenril had called on her for that night, with the makings they'd worked hard to scrape the coin up for and pick up from the Lowtown Market. Like they would all even be here if he hadn't gambled away the family fortune and lost the estate to his debts. Mother had actually started weeping when she'd heard a gang of slavers was working out of her old home now. They were doing the best they could to earn their keep. Since they were working off a debt, they didn't get paid as big a share as the rest of Athenril's crew, so they made do as best they could.

She admitted...grudgingly...that he had a bit of a point. Something about working for Athenril had stirred the side of Alessa that questioned and pushed the boundaries of _everything_. She didn't go out of her way to make trouble but she certainly had a habit of attracting it. And with Beth...if the templars caught her, it was likely her whole family would be arrested. She had nightmares enough about if that happened without him adding to it.

Bethany stirred the stew in her bowl absently. She'd heard tales of Kirkwall's Circle but the reality was so much more alarming. The Knight Commander of the templars, Meredith, held the entire city in her hold, no matter what appearances the nobles tried to keep up. The Circle of Magi for the city was held in the old Gallows prison and she'd heard they were treated no better than prisoners. Aveline had stopped by to make sure to caution them because the city guard was helpless to stop anything the templars did. She and Alessa had seen them execute an apostate right out in the street once without anyone daring to interfere. Templars, in her experience, always thought they were in the right, especially when they dealt with mages but there was another level to their righteousness here in Kirkwall that chilled her to the bone. Like they had the right to do whatever they wanted to mages because of what they were...and mages didn't have the right to protest because of what _they_ were.

Not for the first time, she wondered if it might be best for everyone if she just turned herself over to the Circle willingly. It would put her family out of danger and she wouldn't have to be afraid every spell she cast was a signature on their arrest warrant. Not that Alessa would allow it even if she tried to turn herself in. She might have enjoyed the kind of work she did but this life, and the fact they were in Kirkwall, had stirred her protective Big Sister Instincts until she was outright overbearing sometimes.

It was long dark before Alessa returned home. She was so quiet Beth only heard her because she was still awake. They'd insisted Mother take the only other real room in the house besides the main room and Gamlen's room, which left the sisters with setting up pallets of thick blankets and pillows on the floor of the main room.

Beth shifted onto her side, turning to look at Alessa she sat on the floor in front of her pallet, tugging her boots off. She glanced over and smiled a bit. "Sorry to wake you."

"You didn't," Bethany whispered, sitting up. "In fact it's kind of scary how quietly you move now."

"But useful." Alessa undressed and pulled a loose nightshirt on that hit her at her knees before crawling into bed, turning onto her side to face her sister and propping herself up on her elbow. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore but it's not too bad at all," Bethany assured her. She leaned against the wall, falling silent for a moment.

"What's wrong, Beth?" Alessa studied her, frowning.

"I'm worried about Mother, 'Lessa. I thought when she finally admitted none of us were to blame for Carver's death she was starting to heal but she still thinks about him all the time. And..." Her lips tightened into an angry line and she looked away.

"And what?"

"Did you know Uncle Gamlen lost the estate to a group of slavers?"

"Mother told me, yes."

"And he has the nerve to keep bringing up how angry Grandfather and Grandmother were at her for running away. It hurts her so much..."

The way Alessa's face darkened told Beth that Gamlen had been careful not to do that in front of her. "Maybe I should have a word with..."

"The thing is," Bethany hurried on before she could say anything further, "he only gets really nasty about it whenever Mother tries to talk about how Grandfather left her nothing at all. She mentioned Grandfather's will earlier today and Gamlen got really defensive."

"Did she make him show it to her?"

"He doesn't have it. It's in the vault on the estate. I think he's telling the truth about it because I went through the house while he was gone and I can't find it anywhere."

Alessa looked amused despite herself. "Why, Beth, and you call me sneaky."

Bethany reached over and poked her. "Be serious."

"All right, all right, so where exactly are you going with this?"

"I just...it seems like coming back here has ruined all of Mother's memories of her childhood. I wish we could get them back for her."

Alessa was silent. "Once we work off our debt, we can start looking for more variety in work...stuff that will make us more money. Maybe get enough to buy it back."

" _Slavers_ , Alessa. They don't have a right to be on our family's estate!" She leaned forward, glancing at the door to Gamlen's room. "But what if...I don't like to speak ill of family, but what if Uncle Gamlen was lying about the will? What if some of the estate and inheritance belonged to Mother? If we could get a hold of that will, we could find out."

Alessa was silent for a long moment as she thought that over. "That would take some doing...we'd need to scope the place out a bit before even trying."

"I know."

Alessa laid back, studying the ceiling. "Corin mentioned having odd jobs to do up in Hightown...which means grifting jobs and such, I think. He told me he might recruit me to help with some of them, that might give us a chance to learn more about them. And the best way to get in."

Bethany realized what had started as speculation was turning into a real plan. She finally laid down, pulling the covers around her. "That's a good idea...although...I don't like the way he looks at you. Corin, I mean."

"Hey, if I let him seduce me, that will just aid our cause. I can suffer for that." She grinned.

"Alessa!" Bethany stifled a giggle. "You wouldn't really, would you? You're not the only girl he looks at, you know."

"Well, it's not like I'm planning to marry him."

"You have terrible taste in men." Beth shook her head, smiling sadly. "If we were nobility, our marriages would probably be arranged for us. I can't see either of us submitting to that. You because you're...you and me because..." She shrugged.

Alessa reached over and squeezed her hand. Bethany had always needed to be more cautious than was right for a girl her age. Any time she'd had a crush on someone, a chance to develop a relationship, she had to balance it against him finding out she was an apostate. She'd had less heartache than her older sister, but she had missed out on a lot of the things a girl her age should have been doing.

Alessa was silent for so long, Bethany thought she'd gone to sleep. She was startled when she finally spoke, "One day you'll meet a man who won't care that you're a mage, Beth. Someone who will see past that into your heart and your soul and realize anyone who would pass you by is an utter fool."


	6. What the Storm Brings

" _Sweetheart, you are Malcolm Hawke's daughter. Even without magic, you would not be normal. It's not in your blood."_

**-Old Loretta, smuggler, to Bethany Hawke**

* * *

From the journal of Alessa Hawke (Vol 1, dated 9:30 to 9:32 Dragon, compiled by Priam Delcour):

_12 Cloudreach, 9:30 Dragon_

Morning notes:

_Athenril needs some errands run down in the foundry areas. Make sure to take note of some of the foundry shafts. I also need to get into the foundries themselves and take a good long look one of these days. I realize it is a lost cause even looking into how to reduce chokedamp. Even if I figured out a way to do it, the odds of getting measures implemented are slim to none. Still, you never know._

_Got to be more discreet about it, though. I saw the old man who was with us on the ship the other day, he gave me a funny look. That was a mistake, wondering at stuff out loud. Always leads to trouble. Better to be faithful and stupid than blasphemous and smart. That ought to be the Templar motto._

Evening notes:

_Nothing much interesting from the shafts, but we were really busy. One of the group who used to be a navigator is helping me out in narrowing down where on Sundermount the Dalish elves I'm supposed to take the amulet to are. Haven't been able to find much information on the Dalish. Most of the elves in Athenril's group, including her, don't care about them in the slightest. Not much use in trying to find books either, Lowtown doesn't have a library, which is a damn shame. Maybe the next time we break into a Hightown place I can sneak a look at a book or two._

_I keep thinking about things Papa said. Just randomly during the day I'll remember something out of the blue. I think it's probably the dreams. I've been having a lot of those lucid dreams lately, the ones where I'm fully in the Fade, and I always remember Papa a lot more when I'm having them. We spent so much time talking about them. Mostly the ones where it is just a bunch of fog and voices whispering that I can never hear. I always follow Papa's instructions in those dreams. Try and listen, even though I never remember what the voices are saying. Never, never, EVER follow the voices into the mist. I still have never drawn a demon to me while in the Fade but that does not mean it is impossible. I wonder what people would say if they realized how little it matters whether you are a mage or not in the Fade. Dreaming is the great equalizer. They'd probably dismiss it or call it blasphemy. One of the things Papa would tell me is that people believe the Maker created the Fade and spirits and demons because the idea that it all might simply be a place that reflects what is in our own hearts is so much more frightening._

_I really miss Papa._

* * *

"An actor, huh?" Hawke focused and managed to dodge Corin's next attack, moving so fast she almost left a faint imprint in the air behind her.

The two of them were practicing in a torch lit cavern in what Alessa had started to call "Madam's Domain": a series of caves and tunnels in the walls of the cliffs that connected about three naturally hidden coves perfect for smuggling.

Corin spun, grinning proudly. "Performance artist," he corrected. "Sneaking off to play in the theaters is fun, but I want to see most of this world before I leave it. You have to be more than just an actor to play with one of the good traveling troupes." He used the shadows that played along the edge of the natural stone room to dodge into and try and come up behind her.

"If you think your mother doesn't know you sneak off and perform in some of the plays, you're delusional." She spun before he could quite reach her, blocking his blow and dancing away. She was fast and agile enough to balance out the difference in size and weight between them. If he'd been any less experienced in his art, she might have been and equal match for him. Maybe someday she would be.

"Oh, she knows. She also knows I don't intend to be a smuggler for the rest of my life, not like Athenril. She's a lot less tight assed than my sister, Alessa. You'll like her. When I run off, she'll pretend to be outraged but her eyes will be laughing. You'll see."

"Aw, Athenril isn't that bad. But, I am going to deny ever encouraging you, you know."

"I'll make sure to wait a few more months until your debt is paid off so she can't take it out on you. Just for you."

"Such a sweetheart."

"So I've been told _many_ times." He finally managed to flank her, catching her from behind. He anticipated her move when she wound a leg around his. Before she could move, he flipped them both to the floor, landing on his back to cushion her fall. She shifted as if to try and pull away, then paused, shivering, when he ran his hands up her sides, nuzzling her softly until he reached her ear, nipping the lobe softly. Hawke eased into his hold, looking up at him with a wry smile as he shifted and laid her on the floor. "Caught you," he murmured, bracing himself on his arms above her.

"Won't be the last time."

"I certainly hope not..." Corin leaned down until his lips were a fraction from hers.

"You know we don't have much time before we have to meet up with the others," Alessa said quietly, though she wasn't making any real move to get away.

"Well then...let's not waste it." He closed the distance, kissing her, rolling onto his side and drawing her against him.

Alessa let her arms slide around him, a wordless murmur of enjoyment coming from her as she arched into his touch, her mind settling into a delightful haze. She was dragged out of it when an echoing boom reverberated off the walls, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Corin was unperturbed, running his hands over her sides soothingly. "It's just thunder. Sound travels oddly in here."

He wasn't kidding. The echo off the stone turned the sound into a rumbling roar that made her think of drawings she'd seen of Qunari cannons. The storm brewing outside was promising to be a bitch of one when it finally unleashed. Hopefully the shipment coming in would get here before it did, that sound seemed like a portent for disaster...

Corin slid his hands up beneath her shirt and Hawke decided that was a worry for later. By the time another crack of thunder echoed through the cliffs, they were both far too preoccupied to notice.

* * *

Bethany watched the smugglers unload the cargo silently, holding her staff in plain view. Their current business associates didn't have a mage, so Athenril had told her to stay in the forefront as a warning not to try anything funny and to cast freely, since there was no danger of alerting templars in the cove.

She squinted at the jagged mouth of the cave. Beyond, the sea was churning as the storm unleashed its fury. She couldn't see anything beyond the cave mouth except sheets of rain, except when a bolt of lightning hit. There were so many big ones, when they struck they illuminated huge patches of the sea. The overall effect was creepy and she shivered, hoping they'd be done soon. These caverns always made her uneasy.

Her first sign something was amiss came when Athenril suddenly turned, staring across the floor of the cavern toward the tunnel they'd used to get here. She didn't much like Athenril but she'd learned from experience never to doubt the woman's instincts...or her ears. She was picking up on something Bethany couldn't yet. That was confirmed when she finally heard running footsteps and Alessa exploded into the cavern, pelting toward them. "Redwaters! I threw some traps down in the tunnels, but that's not going to hold them back for long."

"How many?" Athenril's voice was cool, not a hint of alarm touching her face.

"A dozen, maybe more."

"You and Corin flank them. Bethany, guard the cargo." She motioned to several of the others and they moved forward to circle the entrance. Beth met her sister's glance for a moment before Alessa disappeared into the shadows. She hoped she wouldn't get them into trouble again by keeping more of an eye on Bethany than following Athenril's instructions. She kept telling her she wasn't a child, she could take care of herself, especially in a situation like this when she could use her magic without restraint.

Redwater Teeth burst into the cavern a few moments later, their yells echoing off the stone. It was a full on raid, the entire group moving in to kill them all and take the cargo. She saw a couple of them falter when they caught sight of Athenril. Obviously they hadn't counted on having to deal with her. Corin, ever the opportunist, used their unfortunate hesitation to hit them from the side as the rest of their crew rushed forward to meet the invaders. She caught glimpses of Alessa darting in and out of the battle, throwing smoke bombs and striking out with poisons.

The sound of metal clashing against metal fought against the rain for dominance. The smugglers, ever the professionals, glanced over with a bit of trepidation, but kept unloading the cargo. Bethany and a couple of the fighters stood at the edge of the docks, forming a wall between the Redwaters and the ship. Beth called magic to her fingertips, feeling them tingle from the mana swirling through her. For all she sometimes considered her magic a curse, that feeling never failed to thrill her.

A young man managed to break through and aimed for them. He was short and compact, moving with confidence and skill. Over his Redwater outfit, he wore a long red cloak he threw behind him with a flourish, obviously thinking it made him look impressive. All it made Bethany think of was how the void he managed not to trip over it. He took her in silently, his eyes raking up and down her form. He grinned at her, full of confidence. Ven, one of the fighters, started forward and she touched his arm silently to hold him back. The raider bowed to her mockingly, his sword naked in his hand. "Cal Alexi at your service, ma'am. Remember the name; all of Kirkwall will fear it one day." He moved toward her. "Step aside and I won't do you any harm. I'd hate to harm such a pretty little thing."

Bethany judged he was close enough and threw a hand toward him, sending a hard ball of solid magic, like an invisible fist, right at him. He went flying backward, mouth open in a comical O of surprise, his sword dropping, and rolled head over heels across the floor. Ven and the other fighter started laughing. The raider struggled to get up, cursing, tangled up in his cloak. He staggered to his feet, his back to them, and Beth set the seat of his pants alight with a small tongue of flame. He let out a shriek and dropped to the ground to put it out, tangling himself up in his cloak further and sending the fighters next to her into absolute gales of laughter.

Beth gripped her staff and raised her eyes back to the battle but it wasn't really much of a battle anymore. The raiders had probably counted on a sneak attack...that's how they preferred to attack on the Docks back in Kirkwall...and frankly, the Redwater Teeth didn't have the numbers or skill to take on Athenril's crew, especially these days when they were getting stronger and gaining more ground than ever.

Athenril was instructing them to tie up the ones left over. She glanced over and frowned a bit when she saw the cloaked raider, sending a small glare Bethany's way. Beth kept her face expressionless. One thing the Hawke sisters clashed with her over again and again was their reluctance to kill. Bethany had managed to get through the past months without killing anyone and she fully intended to keep it that way, especially since Alessa hadn't been so lucky and Bethany had seen how badly those deaths haunted her. It stirred up bad memories they both wanted to keep buried in the past.

Corin stepped out of the shadows, laughing, ignoring his sister's irritation. "Set his ass on fire."

"That's my little sister," Alessa was grinning at her proudly. Then she faltered, her eyes widening as she stared at something behind her sister. Bethany blinked and turned slowly. Bit by bit, the voices and movement in the cavern tapered off, even the prisoners were staring.

Beyond the mouth of the cavern, the storm had worsened. The sea was boiling as the winds lashed it into a fury, thunder was pounding the air, and bright bolts of lightning were tearing through the sky on a near constant basis. The lightning clearly illuminated the scene beyond that had captivated everyone's attention.

"Maker's breath..." Loretta, one of Madam's oldest lieutenants, a smuggler all her life, was staring at the scene, wide eyed. "That's a Qunari dreadnaught."

The ship was huge, the lightning flashing across the various spikes of its masts and the metal enhancing its structure made it look like something out of a nightmare. It was bearing down on a smaller, human ship, or would have been, if the weather had been clear. As it was, both ships appeared to be fighting for control with the storm and losing. Badly. The winds buffeted them, driving them further in toward the cliffs. Loretta started shaking her head and Alessa spoke quietly, "They aren't going to make it..."

"Not unless the wind takes them away from the reefs in the next few minutes..." Loretta agreed.

That was clearly not going to happen. Several of the group backed away automatically even though there was no chance of the ships entering the cove or crashing anywhere near them. They could do little but stare in awe and horror as the storm finally took the smaller ship out first. A wave caught it at the wrong angle and sent it tipping over, almost capsizing it. The crew had no way of controlling it, or stopping it from crashing into the reefs that lined the cliffs on all sides. Even over the storm, they could hear the crunch of wood and see figures diving off the side of the ship as the waves and rocks tore it apart.

The dreadnaught smashed into it a few moments later, obliterating the remains. A pinnacle of sharp rock jutting out of the water tore into the dreadnaught's side and sent it careening further into the reefs. The movement carried it past the cave's mouth and they didn't see what happened to it then, though the sounds of more breaking wood and screeching metal reached their ears.

As if satisfied by the carnage it had wrought on the two ships, the storm started to lose momentum. Things in the cavern stayed silent for a long while afterward, everyone staring at the litter of wood and cloth floating on the surface of the water that was all that remained of the first ship.

* * *

At dawn few days later, the kossith woman known to the people of Lowtown as Theta stepped out of a narrow, two story building that sat along the edge of the docks. She paused for a moment, her violet eyes sweeping toward the west, then she moved down the stairs that separated her living space from her shop.

She was a robust woman with dusky bronzed skin who stood a head taller than most of the men in the city. Her long white hair was plaited into several braids which were then braided together and pulled back from her face, leaving only a few wispy strands to float around her face and the delicate black horns that swept back and up from her temples.

Theta deactivated the traps that guarded the front door of the shop and unlocked it, going about the task of preparing it for another day. In all honesty, there were very few who would have dared try and rob her, but she supposed having a routine was simply so ingrained in her nature there wasn't much point in trying to fight it. Besides, you just never knew in Kirkwall.

She sat down underneath the overhang that shielded the front door from the sun during the day, cradling a mug of tea between her hands, watching as people started to stir, going about their business. She enjoyed watching the city slowly come to life in the morning. Her home overlooked both one of the main areas of the docks and one of the roads leading into the city itself, giving her a clear view of the many kinds of people that passed to and from the docks. Sailors, merchants, messengers, thieves...by midday there would be an ever moving chain of them teeming through the area.

Theta picked up the carving she was working on, starting to shave away wood bit by endlessly careful bit. She preferred to work outside whenever possible. Even after sundown she could often be found lounging in her chair there beneath the overhang, still working. She wasn't so focused on her work she didn't hear the footsteps approaching her from the side. She didn't even bother to look up, she knew those steps as clearly as she knew her own by now. "You're up early, little stranger."

"Not exactly. I haven't been home yet." Hawke perched on the low wall that surrounded the building, taking a moment, as always, to admire the array of pieces set on a small table beside Theta's chair, displaying some of her wares. The table that had drawn her attention to Theta's shop the first time around. There were pieces in dozens of styles, created depending on Theta's fancy. Carvings, decorations, puzzle boxes, regular boxes, some plain wood, some decorated with exotic colors or touched with precious stones. She sometimes wondered if there was anything Theta couldn't create from wood, stone, or metal. Her shop was a mishmash of her own work and things she traded from sailors passing through. Even people who feared the Qunari made exceptions for this particular artisan; her work was without equal.

Alessa popped a piece of melon into her mouth and offered the twist of paper that held the rest of them to Theta, who took a piece with a murmur of thanks. She sat back, mismatched eyes turning toward the same area Theta had looked at earlier. "There's Qunari here," she said offhandedly.

Theta nodded. "So I heard."

"I saw their ship get wrecked in a storm a few days ago. The Viscount gave them an area of the docks to stay at as a peace offering until they fix their ship."

The Viscount, Theta thought silently, was overly optimistic in that regard. She didn't think the Qunari were going anywhere anytime soon. "I suppose that was the best choice since they would have just taken it anyway and I doubt anyone would have argued."

Alessa just grunted in agreement, swinging her legs idly. The two women sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. "A lot of them survived the wreck, which was impressive. I've only seen them once. A group of them were following a really big fellow. They kept calling him Arishok."

Theta's hands went still as Hawke looked at her. She'd heard rumors the Arishok was among the stranded Qunari but had dismissed it offhand. But Hawke wouldn't have mentioned it if she wasn't certain. Theta had told her enough about the society she had left behind she would know how significant it was that the Arishok, one of the three leaders of the Qunari, was here in Kirkwall. She also could figure out even without Theta's reaction that it meant trouble, and probably great amounts of it, for all of them.

What in the world could have drawn him here?

Alessa fidgeted, picking up one of the metal puzzles, a series of interlocking rings that turned into a short chain of them when it was solved. Amused, Theta wondered if Alessa even realized she was undoing the rings and putting them back together over and over in the same time it would have taken most of her customers to solve it once. It had been quite nice since she'd first met the girl; when she came up with a new puzzle she had someone to test it on, with the added bonus of the fun of seeing how long it took her to solve it. "They won't...hunt you down or anything, will they, Theta?" Hawke finally blurted out.

Theta's amusement fled at the genuine anxiety in her voice. She looked over at her. "It's doubtful they will be wandering the city often, and I have no plans of drawing their attention to me." She paused for a moment, considering. "There's always a possibility of an Arvaarad coming after me, if they have one among them."

"Arvaarad?"

"They control mages. And hunt Tal-Vashoth."

Alessa frowned. "You said you weren't Tal-Vashoth."

"I don't consider myself Tal-Vashoth," Theta corrected. "I am just me. That doesn't mean they don't consider me Tal-Vashoth. And therefore dangerous. To them, little stranger, anything or anyone who doesn't adhere to the Qun is chaotic, and therefore dangerous."

Hawke nodded in understanding. Theta could almost see the information spinning through her brain, being filed away. Always so eager to learn, though she rarely asked too many questions about Qunari since she knew Theta disliked talking about them.

Ashkaari, she would have been called in her native tongue. A seeker of knowledge. Never truly happy unless she was learning something. Theta understood that hunger perfectly, it was that understanding that had drawn the two of them together. Their lives up to that point had even paralleled each other's. Alessa's constant need to question and discover everything had led her to upsetting Chantry leader and templar alike when she was younger. It had led to some kind of incident involving her sister that she as reluctant to talk about. It had to be something bad, bad enough she'd started disguising her nature almost as much as her father and sister did. Likewise Theta's nature had led her to question things the Qunari could not question...like the Qun. Like the very basis of their society and their place in the world. It had driven her away from her people across the length and breadth of Thedas to learn all it had to show her. If she had regrets, they were few. She loved the vast variety of people around her, loved what she'd come to view as the balance of order and chaos throughout the world. A world that never failed to present something new to be discovered.

"I'm just one woman," she said, not sure if she was trying to convince Hawke or herself. "They likely have Sarebaas with them." Hawke noted she was using the Qunari term for mages, which was something she rarely did. She disapproved of the term, which literally meant 'dangerous thing'. "Most of their focus will be on controlling them, and doing whatever it is they came here to do. I'm too far beneath their notice."

"Their loss," Alessa said, drawing a wry smile from the artisan. They shared the last of the melon and Hawke finally said, echoing Theta's own thoughts from earlier "Why do you think they are here? They were chasing a human ship when they wrecked, and it didn't look like any fancy or official kind of ship. Why would someone so important be after it?"

Theta leaned back and picked up her carving again, her expression sober. "I don't know. But I think we should both hope they find what they are looking for and move on quickly."


	7. Chance Meetings

" _Hawke isn't crazy. Her lines of thought will reach the same point as everyone else's will. Hers just take the scenic route to get there."_

**\- Varric Tethras**

* * *

Madam's domain was natural stone and made up of sea caves but that didn't mean she lived without style.

Athenril and Corin had grown up here, Hawke marveled, glancing around as Athenril spoke in low voices with her mother. Beneath her feet, the stone had been painstakingly sanded down and polished until it gleamed, reflecting the torchlight of the large cavern Hawke had mentally dubbed the "throne room". The walls and natural stone pillars formed from stalactites and stalagmites meeting that dotted the room had also been polished, elaborate designs carved into their surfaces.

Dominating all this was Madam herself, a tall, silver haired elf woman with the stern hazel eyes she'd passed onto her children. She was seated in a high backed chair carved of fine wood and inlayed with gold designs.

Despite the queenly appearance she liked to present, Alessa had found her to be one of the most refreshingly down to earth people she'd ever met. She expected respect but had little patience for groveling and brown nosing. Hawke was frankly surprised she hadn't managed to tighten that iron fist of hers around Kirkwall's smuggling business before this.

She turned those piercing eyes on Hawke now, leaning back in her chair. "Athenril says you're taking a jaunt to Sundermount to find the Dalish."

"Yes, Madam." Hawke had no trouble speaking with respect to the matriarch of the whole operation. Particularly because she had the utmost respect for her. She glanced at Athenril, who was expressionless, then back to Madam.

"Might I ask why?"

Hawke debated how much to tell her. She'd found that people tended to not believe the whole 'rescued by a woman who could shapechange into a dragon' part. "I promised to deliver something to their Keeper."

"Marethari."

Hawke stared at her, shocked. "You know them, Madam?"

"Of them. Or rather, of her." Madam smiled, genuinely amused by her surprise, and ran her fingers over the delicate tattoos that decorated her face. "I was born Dalish, child. Not of that clan, but mine crossed paths with theirs. Her First, her apprentice, came from my clan."

Hawke stared at her, fascinated. "I don't suppose you could give me advice on how to avoid getting killed. I've not been able to find much information on the Dalish."

"Don't go, that's your best option."

"I'm afraid I cannot put it off, Madam."

Madam studied her for a long moment. There was something sharp and entirely too knowing in her eyes. "May I ask who exactly bade you to give something to the Keeper?"

Alessa guessed there was nothing for it now. She drew in a deep breath. "Flemeth."

Athenril's eyes widened and Madam's narrowed slightly. She stared at Hawke with a great deal more intensity than she had a moment before. "Of course..." she finally said, her voice very quiet. "Of course."

"Madam...?"

The elf matriarch shook herself a bit. "Well, my dear, if you are a messenger for Asha'bellanar, I daresay you will have no trouble getting to the Keeper."

"If they believe me..."

"Don't underestimate the one you owe a debt to, child." Madam's voice was soft. Alessa lifted her head and their eyes locked for a long moment. "Yes, I know you must owe her a debt. Favors are her coin and her trade." For a moment, the entire world seemed to have narrowed down to just the two of them, a sense of odd understanding trembling in the air between them. "Even that quick mind of yours can't fathom the machinations of one such as her. Never trust her, but never, never underestimate her..."

* * *

"So you can't find any trade routes that match up. So what, Vallen, you think these ominous raiders are just up there waiting to ambush the air?"

Aveline gritted her teeth at the sneer in Guard-Captain Jeven's voice. It took all of her considerable discipline to keep her voice low and respectful. "No, sir, but they are planning on ambushing someone. Otherwise, why would they be there?"

"Who says they are? There are savage elves all over Sundermount, guardswoman, and they're always on the lookout to attack unwary travelers. That's why people are warned to stay away. And guardsmen are to avoid the area all together." There was a warning edge to his voice now. He gave her a cold, arrogant look as they stepped out into the main area of the barracks. "You have your orders. And from now on, let the people born and raised in the area and who know it make judgments about where the most trouble is, eh?"

Again with the subtle reminder she was an outsider, the inference that she wouldn't be anything without him. Aveline bit back a sharp retort and nodded curtly. "Sir."

Jeven smirked and turned away. Aveline was standing off to the side enough she caught the sudden tightening of his mouth and stiffening of his posture. She followed his gaze, trying to pick out what had displeased him.

"Well, they aren't common, but they aren't exactly rare, either. Lightning is attracted to water, so that's why you find the most potent crystals in shallow pools and coves and such."

That voice had Aveline biting back a sigh. She wondered what Hawke had done to earn the Guard-Captain's ire, because she was definitely who he was glaring daggers at.

"You have to be especially careful, even with a small shock trap like this one. There's really no way you can avoid a little bit of a jolt, but you can minimize it by loosening the setting around the Frozen Lightning powering it and wearing gloves." Hawke was sitting crosslegged on top of a table surrounded by a few of the guardsmen, including Donnic Hendyr and one of the younger recruits, Brennen.

Brennen and the patrol she was on had stopped a robbery the other night and had brought in a whole bunch of traps that were alarmingly complex. According to their sources, it was the dwarves that were coming up with them, making bigger, fancier and more dangerous ones with every passing year.

_Next she'll probably do a demonstration on how to make one, wouldn't that be a handy skill for a guardsmen?_ Aveline thought with a familiar mix of amusement and exasperation. Hawke demonstrated as she spoke, carefully removing the crystal set in a protected section of the trap and setting it on the table. "These are probably the worst ones to disarm. The first one I ever tried I electrocuted myself and my hair went _pfft_...sticking out all over the place." She grabbed handfuls of her black hair and pulled it up and out to demonstrate, drawing chuckles all around.

Jeven moved forward. Donnic glanced up, his smile fading when he caught sight of the Guard-Captain. His eyes met Aveline's briefly, then he looked back to Jeven, his mouth tightening into a thin line as an expression dangerously close to outright dislike flickered across his face just for an instant. It made Aveline wonder if he'd overheard her conversation with Jeven. Donnic had been one of the first to point out the unusual amount of raiders in the area outside of Kirkwall, near Sundermount.

Everyone else turned and stood at attention as the Guard-Captain stomped up. "All right, you lot, fun time is over. Brennen, don't you have a patrol to get ready for?" He glared at her pointedly and she ducked her head, gathering up the disarmed traps and hurrying out of the room. The other guards moved off either toward the barracks or back to their duties, except for Donnic, who lingered for a moment as if reluctant to leave the two women alone with Jeven. A slashing glare from the Guard-Captain sent him on his way but Aveline had a feeling he wouldn't go too far. Not that Donnic underestimated either of them; it was simply in his nature.

Which Jeven would have known if he bothered to know any of his guardsmen.

Aveline pushed the thought away as Hawke slid off the table and looked up at Jeven with a politely bland expression. He seemed almost...jumpy, Aveline noted, puzzled. His fists were clenched, his body tense. Hawke pulled a handful of papers out of her satchel and handed them to Aveline before he could speak. "While we're on the subject of traps, here's the schematics for some of the more complex ones that keep showing up, Aveline. As promised." She gave Jevan a bright smile. "It must be wonderful to have a guardswoman with so much foresight. Guard-Captain, Guardswoman." She tipped her head to both of them and strolled out the main door. Jeven looked after her, his jaw clenched. Aveline kept a straight face, tucking the schematics under her arm and moving on before the Guard-Captain could speak again.

* * *

Bitch.

Jeven gritted his teeth and watched Aveline head out after that little weird eyed bitch that had been causing so much trouble for the Coterie...and him. The raiders the Coterie sent out to the outer edges of the area around Kirkwall were an important chunk of profit and he'd worked very hard to keep the flow going. Then they had come across one of Athenril's smuggling paths and since then, that bitch Hawke had seemed bound and determined to disrupt as many of them as often as she could. At first, he'd thought sending one of his best men to blackmail Hawke with the knowledge that her little sister was a mage would yield some profitable results and give him some better standing with the Coterie, as well as getting her off his back. Then he had turned the corner one day and found himself surrounded, that cold eyed brother of Athenril's standing in front of him and letting him know in no uncertain terms what would happen to him if he tried to turn one of their people in. It also became clear how much Athenril's crew had risen in power over the past year. Risen enough that if they killed him, the Coterie wouldn't raise a hand to them. Not for his sake. There were always more guardsmen to bribe if he died, other ways to maneuver people in power.

It was one thing to know in the back of your mind how expendable you were, it was another to have the knowledge thrown in your face.

Vallen was even worse. He'd thought he simply had to wait until he found a good price to get her with, but it had not taken long for him to figure out the refugee couldn't be bought, which was simply outrageous. Worse, she was willful and had the kind of bullheaded idealism a woman her age should have lost after girlhood; it was unbelievable. And to top it all off...she was inexplicably popular with the rest of the guard. She'd risen in the ranks without any help from him.

Bitch. How had his life been compromised by a couple of Ferelden bitches?

Muttering to himself, he caught a glimpse of Hendyr watching him out of the corner of his eye as he shuffled through some papers. Another one that couldn't be bought. He would have gotten rid of Donnic a long time ago except, like Vallen, he was popular with the other guards. Jeven stomped into his office and shut the door behind him, clenching his fists, then forcing himself to relax as a thought occurred to him, bringing a smile to his lips. It would take some time, but he could gain control again. There was nothing he could do about Hawke...for the moment. But the guardsmen, on the other hand...

Brennen was set up nicely for tonight. He hadn't intended to make it a habit of sending guards out to their death, too many questions, but if he spaced it out right, the set up would look completely natural. Too late to change the patrols around at the moment, but he could at least get rid of Hendyr soon.

Then it would be Aveline's turn.

* * *

Hawke was waiting for her just outside the barracks, leaning against the wall beside the door. She pushed away to meet her when Aveline emerged, tucking her hands into her pockets. She was either working or had just come off a job because she was dressed in tight fitting leather armor, her ever present belt hanging crookedly at her waist.

"How are things, Hawke?" Aveline gave her a once over.

"Well, Beth is nervous, Uncle Gamlen won't leave mother alone and the other day I found out a friend of mine from Lothering survived the Blight but now he's working as a prostitute in the Blooming Rose. The madam there doesn't like Fereldens in general but Glendon...no, wait, he's _Marcel_ now...is really handsome and apparently he'll pretty much do anything with anyone so she made an exception for him. He seems happy enough."

Aveline closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I know I'm going to regret asking this but how did you find out he was in The Blooming Rose?"

"Uncle Gamlen. I've had to go in and drag him out of there a couple of times. And pay off his tab, which shuts him up for a day or two." Aveline, having spoken to Gamlen only a few times, could only imagine the relief that brought. "He's been there more often the past few weeks because there's this loud pirate lady he's lusting after. Not a working girl, a customer."

"I've heard of her, she picks more fights than a new Coterie recruit," Aveline said dryly.

"They do tend to swagger about when they join up, don't they?"

She probably had more experience with that lot than anyone her age should have. Still, Hawke looked healthy and clear eyed, despite the conditions her and her family had been living in. Certainly that armor was of better quality than what she'd had when Aveline had last seen her. They were all slowly but surely working their way up, Aveline supposed. It had been almost a year since they'd arrived. In fact, if she recalled correctly, Hawke and Bethany would be free of their contract soon.

As if she could hear her thoughts, Hawke smiled at her as she came near. "Not long until we're on the straight and narrow forever more."

Aveline snorted. "Why do I doubt that? What did you do to piss off the Guard-Captain?"

"Beats me." In truth, Hawke had her suspicions. Athenril's crew had risen enough they were starting to clash with the Coterie here and there, which had given Hawke some opportunities to see how Kirkwall's leading criminal organization worked. There was no way...and Corin had confirmed it...they could have gotten away with all they did without someone very high up in the guard on their payroll.

She was associated with Athenril, Athenril caused trouble for the Coterie, trouble for the Coterie was undoubtably trouble for whoever that was. She didn't have any proof it was Jeven, however, which was why she was careful not to mention it to Aveline.

"He doesn't seem too fond of you, either. He still sending you on dead end patrols?" Hawke cocked her head, studying her, wondering if that was the Guard-Captain's way of getting her out of the way. If Jeven was dirty, there were few in the guard more of a threat to him than Aveline. From the look in her eye, Aveline had some suspicions of her own. Jeven, Hawke decided with a hint of malicious enjoyment, might have worse problems coming up than the Coterie getting upset.

"I seem to have stepped on his toes."

"From what I've heard, he doesn't really like smart women or Fereldens and you...well..."

Aveline had to smile. "My charm, right?" She sobered up, leaning against the wall beside Hawke. "I should be able to go where I'm _needed_." The idea hit her out of the blue. "In fact...Hawke, are you looking for any jobs on the side? I could use your help."

"For what?"

"There have been reports of raiders gathering on Sundermount, but no one has looked into it. By all accounts, they seem to be readying an ambush. I think it's for a caravan, though I can't find any heading that way in the near future. I intend to put a stop to it, my district or not." Hawke was staring at her with a very strange expression. "What?"

"I...came up here to ask if you might consider accompanying me and Bethany to Sundermount." Hawke let out a little laugh.

Aveline blinked. "Really? What for?"

"We finally located the Dalish clan the witch wanted me to deliver the amulet to. What are the odds, eh?" There was a hint of unease beneath her words, but Hawke shook it off before Aveline could question her. "Maybe we could trade favors, kill two birds with one stone as it were."

"I'd have helped you anyway, Hawke, you know that." Remembering Jeven's practices made her want to make sure Hawke knew that.

She smiled at her. "Likewise."

Aveline made herself relax, clapping the smaller woman on the shoulder with a smile. "Works out well, Hawke. We'll get you out from under that witch's shadow and save some lives to boot, you don't get much better than that."

* * *

Hawke met Bethany outside the Viscount's Keep for the second errand of the morning, this one considerably less pleasant than visiting Aveline.

The more she heard of the Deep Roads Expedition being planned by Bartrand Tethras, the more intrigued she became. Going into the home of the darkspawn was suicidal in general, but Corin had been right: at the moment, there were certain parts that were close to empty since the Blight had either drawn out or killed off most of the darkspawn. Not to mention a smaller skirmish with what was rumored to be a sentient darkspawn that had been handled by Ferelden's newly appointed Warden-Commander. An elf. An _Orlesian_ elf. If that wasn't going to make old Loghain roll over in his grave, she didn't know what would. Speculation about Mior Andras ran rampant even outside of Ferelden. Hawke thought the fact she was related to Malaina Surana had more to do with why that particular Orlesian was chosen rather than some kind of plot to give Orlais more influence in Ferelden. At any rate, the woman had followed her famous cousin's footsteps by calmly ignoring what anyone thought of her and saving Ferelden- again -from a darkspawn threat. Now she was the Commander of the Gray and the Arlessa of Amaranthine and was slowly rebuilding the Gray Wardens.

She was also rumored to wield a sword crafted from metal that had fallen from the sky, a gift from Lady Malaina. What Hawke wouldn't give to have a look at that. She wondered what kind of properties a sword made of...of... _starmetal_...would have!

It was unlikely she'd ever get a close look at Starfang, but in consolation, she'd take being able to get a look at some of the ancient dwarven thaigs in the Deep Roads. Meeting Sil Marath seemed to have rekindled the childhood fancy she'd entertained about traveling the world and exploring ancient ruins. Her interest in dwarven ruins in general came from an old dwarf scholar who had been a friend of her father's in Lothering. He'd come to their home and sat down with them, teaching them about dwarven history and their language. Carver had made excuses at every turn to get out of those lessons, but Father had insisted they needed to know all they could about the other people of their world. Carver's wriggling out of the language lessons had come back to bite him in the ass, as his sisters had taken great delight in firing off insults at him in Dwarven and suddenly switching over to the language mid-conversation, which had driven him _crazy._

Sil had turned down Bartrand's offer to join in, stating she'd seen enough of the Deep Roads, but she had mentioned (while helping Hawke touch up on reading Dwarven) she thought Hawke would benefit in many ways if she could get in on the expedition.

Bethany's view of it was a bit more practical. The closer they came to being free of Athenril's service, the more nervous she got. Free to do what they want, they might be, but they would also be unprotected. "We need this, 'Lessa, it's a quick way to get status...coin...anything to hide behind," she said for the fiftieth time.

"Relax, Beth." Hawke was scanning the streets of Hightown. "There he is."

The Merchant's Guild had its headquarters not far from the Viscount's Keep. The nobles bitched about it constantly, having a dwarven run place amongst Kirkwall's finest, but no one had the gall to try and do anything about it. The merchant princes of the Guild had their fingers in every business in Kirkwall. They were the most powerful of forces working behind the scenes and Bartrand Tethras was one of the most powerful among them.

Getting into the Guild House itself was out of the question but with a little bit of observation and persistence, Hawke had managed to figure out the general times Bartrand came and went from the no doubt numerous meetings he had to attend.

She hadn't expected it to be easy. Bartrand was nothing like his brother. She hadn't expected she'd get him to like them and was okay with that because Bartrand didn't appear to like _anybody_. He glared out at the world with those icy blue eyes of his like everyone he met was an insult to his sight.

But since he was a businessman, she had expected him to be reasonable. Rationally, she and Bethany were a good pick for such an expedition. They were both accomplished enough and they'd had experience fighting darkspawn, which wasn't a claim many could make. But Bartrand wouldn't even listen to them, stomping ahead of them with the air of the deeply put upon, interrupting their well rehearsed List of Reasons You Should Hire Us with an impatient gesture. "This is the sort of venture that can make a man for life, I'm not about to risk it on random humans."

"We've fought and killed darkspawn, how many of your men can say that?" Hawke said, still trying to reason with him.

"Get in line, human," he made the term sound like an insult, "half of Kirkwall wants to be my best friend right now."

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," Alessa muttered, earning her a jab in the ribs from Bethany.

"You're looking for a way out of the slums, right?" Bartrand sent them superior look over his shoulder. "You and every other Ferelden in this dump. Find another meal ticket."

Alessa watched him go, blowing out a breath. "Well, that's discouraging."

"Discouraging? That was our last chance!" Bethany said, frustration making her voice high. "At this rate we'll either be exposed to anyone or we'll have to stay under Athenril's thumb for the rest of our lives!"

"There will be other opportunities," Alessa said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Cheer up, Beth, we've still got some time before we can walk away from Athenril's service. We've made a name for ourselves, after all. We'll find something."

"Maybe Uncle Gamlen knows someone who can talk to Bartrand for us," Bethany said without hope.

"Only if we want to make sure he _never_ takes us on."

Bethany scowled at her. "I'm serious. We might as well ask."

Hawke sighed and stepped back, figuring it was best to let her alone and get the fretting out of her system. She was disappointed too, but if the past year had taught her anything, it was that when the straightforward approach didn't work, there were other ways to go about getting what you needed. It was just a matter of figuring out how.

Alessa was distracted by Bethany enough she let her guard down. Always a mistake in Hightown. When a young man bumped into her, she registered it too late. She felt the tug indicating he'd cut her coin purse loose but she was two steps too slow to stop it, spinning around right as he took off. She launched herself after him, annoyed she'd let someone pickpocket her...and he wasn't even that good, either! She wouldn't have even felt him take it if it had been Corin or even Athenril. It was a blow to her pride she simply couldn't let pass.

When Hawke whipped around the corner after him, however, she found him pinned to the wall...with Varric Tethras calmly punching him out. The dwarf jerked the bolt pinning him out of his shoulder, giving him a light kick to hurry him along, before turning toward them. He tossed Hawke the purse, twirling the bolt in his fingers nimbly. "How d'you do? Varric Tethras, at your service."

* * *

Varric had told Bartrand from the start he was going about it all wrong.

About the only thing they agreed on was funding the expedition independently. Beyond that, Bartrand had taken to controlling every aspect of the expedition with the same arrogance as he took everything, gathering a well set group of the finest thugs money could buy. All well and good, having some muscle was always a good thing, but for something like this, Varric knew they would need people a cut above the common. Unfortunately, people with the kinds of skills and intelligence to be really useful made for very bad sycophants and Bartrand never hired anyone to work under him that he couldn't bully.

To top it all off, raising the kinds of funds they needed and balancing the demands of the business was proving a little too much for him to handle, not that he would ever admit it.

It was time, Varric had decided, to find a partner. Splitting the profits three ways instead of two would physically pain his brother, but he was getting desperate enough that Varric was quite sure he could manage to persuade him. All he had to do was find just the right person.

At first, Varric had kept half an eye on the Hawke sisters for the storytelling potential. The daughters of an apostate and an estranged daughter from one of Kirkwalls oldest families...or they had been in better times...and one an apostate herself who'd grown up outside of the Circle. Driven from their home by darkspawn, fleeing to their mother's old home, bravely trying to fight their way from obscurity all the while trying to dodge templars. He couldn't have made something that good up no matter how hard he tried, and they were just getting started!

But when he'd taken note that the eldest was skulking around, watching Bartrand, obviously trying to figure out how to get to him outside the Guild House, he'd started thinking.

There were people interested in the expedition that were more experienced, more skilled, even, but the sisters had a reputation for being straightforward. For a hireling, general untrustworthiness could be balanced out by the fact they were generally too afraid to cross Bartrand. For a partner, however, he needed someone he could trust to not go back on a deal. And that was a rare enough quality the sisters had made a name for themselves with it. Deal fairly with them, they'd deal fairly with you. Try to double-cross them, they'd kick your ass. And probably set it on fire. He could respect that.

His plan was simple: an investment of fifty sovereigns and Varric backing them up, Bartrand wouldn't be able to refuse them.

"Word is, you two are ready to leave Athenril's service as soon as you're free to. Want to be your own bosses. I can understand that. You came highly recommended by a member of your crew who wishes to remain anonymous," Varric said with a smirk.

Corin, Alessa thought, her lips quirking into a warm smile automatically.

"No one thinks it's a coincidence that Athenril and her family suddenly tightened their grip on the smuggling business in the past year. After you two joined up," he informed them. "You've got a reputation for being both competent and reliable, which is something we need even more than the coin if we're going to get through this alive."

"If we had that kind of coin, we wouldn't need the job," Hawke said. Her head was cocked, though, those strange eyes fixed on him curiously.

"You need to think big. There's only a brief window after a Blight that the Deep Roads won't be crawling with darkspawn. The treasure you find down there could set your family up for life."

Bethany leaned toward her sister. "It won't be easy, but it's a chance...I think we have to take it. Better to work our way into the expedition than sit around waiting to be thrown in the Gallows."

Varric kept his eyes on Hawke, who was studying him, her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "We work together you and I, and before you know it, you'll have all the capital you need. What do you say?" Unlike Bartrand, Varric saw an opportunity when it was right in front of him. There was no way he was just going to set them on the path and just wait. He wanted a first hand look at this pair's tale.

Hawke glanced at her sister, and then they both smiled at him, which was a dazzling sight. They shared a smile the could light up the world. That was definitely going into the story. "You have a deal, serrah," Hawke said.

"Perfect," Varric said with real satisfaction. "Kirkwall is crawling with work. You set some coin aside from every job, and you'll have the money in no time." He glanced around. "We should talk privately when we get the chance. In the Hanged Man, maybe. I'll be there when I'm not with you. Time to see what kind of trouble we can stir up."

"Well...have you ever been to Sundermount?"

* * *

Thus, when night fell over Kirkwall, it brought two very excited and hopeful young women bounding into Gamlen's house. They had no way of knowing, of course, that day had been the first set off in a long chain of events and people that would lead up to shaking the very foundations of their world.

Nor did they have any idea the night would bring one more link in that chain, because it was later in the night- as Alessa got into a fight with a few Redwater Teeth -that Fenris first arrived in Kirkwall.

* * *

The first person he met was Theta. As soon as he'd crossed the docks onto the shore, he'd heard a voice humming what he recognized as a qunari war ballad, which intrigued him enough to follow it toward its source.

Theta didn't agree with the demands of the Qun, did not want to be tied down by the strict tenants of its society, but that didn't mean she had no appreciation for her people's accomplishments. Their music and their architecture in particular.

The artisan was sitting outside her home in the warm night, working on the pieces of a puzzle box by lamp and candlelight, humming softly. Movement out of the corner of her eye made her lift her head. Kirkwall's unshakable hold on trade to the Waking Sea ensured that a plethora of unusual and colorful characters passed through it on any given day. That was one of the reasons she'd chosen to settle there, despite how irritating she found its templars. But even for Kirkwall's docks, the elf slowly mounting the stairs carved into the stone of the slope was a striking figure. He was slightly taller than most elves, his lithe form encased in spiked, skin-tight armor and a sword nearly as long as he was sheathed at his back. The watchful air about him and the slight hunch to his posture made her think of a hunted animal. It was the markings on his arms, neck, and face that stood out the most, however. At first glance they looked like tattoos, but looking at them closer made her think they almost looked like...lines of metal...embedded in his skin.

As if that wasn't odd enough, he addressed her in the language of the Qun. He had an accent she had a hard time identifying, lending the words an exotic lilt. She raised her eyebrows, surprised and intrigued. "Greetings to you as well, warrior, but I am no true Qunari."

He cocked his head, pausing a few feet away from her. "Tal-Vashoth?"

"Their name for me, not mine. You are a long way from the Imperium." Now it was his turn to look surprised and she nodded. "It took me a moment to place the accent. It has been a long time since I heard it."

He looked away, nodding. "Wherever you came from, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," she said with an easy smile, perhaps to reassure him she was not going to press further. "I am Theta."

"Fenris," he said, nodding respectfully. He chose his next words carefully. "I take it there has been no one else from the Imperium passing this way anytime recently, then...?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I've not seen any other Tevinters, no, though that could just mean they came in another way. The Docks are vast and there are plenty of ways to slip in without being noticed." On a rare occasion, elves hailing from Tevinter were free merchants or traveling magisters, but more often, they were escaped slaves. It didn't take much observation to figure out which one he was. "But its an easy thing to slip by unnoticed in Kirkwall," she added, trusting he'd pick up on the warning as well as the suggestion. The hunters might be able to use Kirkwall to remain in the shadows as they hunted, but clever prey could use the winding streets of the city to equal advantage. Her own dislike for slavers...Tevinter slavers in particular...made her add: "I think, perhaps, it might be a good time to keep an eye out for an uncommon amount of Tevinters in the city, don't you?"

He stared at her in surprise, which she met with another easy smile. After an uncertain moment, he returned it, the gratified smile sitting strangely on his mouth as if it was unused to such an expression. She motioned toward the city. "Word of advice: there's a tavern called The Hanged Man in Lowtown that could be a good asset to you, I suggest you stop by there at least once."

He nodded but before he could say anything, faint shouts echoed from further down the docks, making them both turn in that direction, Fenris's hand going to the hilt of his sword automatically.

The yells grew closer, and running footsteps announced the figure approaching even before she launched herself over a low wall. She...Fenris could make out the figure was female, if nothing else...leaped nimbly over a stack of crates, kicked off from a wall and used the momentum to jump onto the wall that ran behind Theta's house. She was a blur rushing by them, and the kossith pulled her feet out of her way right in time. "Sorry, Theta!" The girl was already shooting up the slope toward the city, trailing laughter behind her.

Her pursuers came bumbling up a few minutes later. Fenris kept his hand on his sword, watching them with narrowed eyes, but Theta seemed completely unconcerned. The leader, a young man wearing a ridiculous red cloak, paused as he took them in, glancing at Fenris somewhat nervously. He gathered himself up and looked imperiously at Theta. "Did she come by this way?"

"What's it matter, Alexi, you'll never catch her," the kossith said, dismissive. "You never do."

His face darkened with wrath but didn't seem willing to risk a threatening move. "Just you wait. One of these days she'll have to quit running like a coward and fight. And _then_..." He threw his cape back over his shoulder dramatically and moved toward the city, his head held high. Theta glanced up and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. Someone had drawn a silly looking face on the back of his cloak and even his companions seemed content to leave him in the dark about it.

Fenris watched them head toward the city, his brow furrowed. He looked at Theta.

"Welcome to Kirkwall, warrior," she said dryly.


	8. Day Trip to Sundermount

" _Nature is, by its very nature, chaotic."_

**-Morrigan**

* * *

There were things in life, in Alessa's considered opinion, that one simply did not do. Like make a life or death deal with a Tevinter Magister. Or try to steal from a Qunari. Or trust the word of a demon. Right and wrong had nothing to do with this; you did not do such things because they were fundamentally stupid things to do.

Apparently, no one had told Merrill that last one.

Merrill was an utter paradox to Hawke. It wasn't that she was a blood mage...you could use any form of magic to kill someone horribly, so in Hawke's opinion the intent of the person behind the magic was what twisted it, not the form they used...it was the earnest, matter of fact way she'd spoken about making a deal with a demon to learn it. Like it was no big deal at all which was...not an attitude she'd come across before. In anyone. That mixture of steely and yet naive resolve of hers made her an entirely unique individual.

Hawke had to admit her innocent honesty was refreshing, especially since between Madam, Flemeth, and Marethari, she had quite her share of wise, elderly women staring at her like they were seeing something in her she was unaware of. She was going to start getting a complex at this rate.

Flemeth was the worst, because Hawke couldn't easily scoff off her words. The amulet she had bade them bring to Sundermount had held a piece of the witch herself. Apparently she'd foreseen something happening to her...her own death...at the hands of her daughter. And she, clever old, old woman that she was, whisper in the dark that she was, had taken steps.

_You have my thanks...and my sympathy._

Of course, she just couldn't come outright and _say_ what was going to happen to her, oh no. She had to be cryptic and mysterious.

_We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment, and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether or not you can fly._

Damned chilling stuff to have aimed at you.

_Destiny awaits us both, dear girl. We both have much to do._

Well, _she_ didn't. She wasn't one of Varric's story heroes. She wasn't a great leader or a powerful, charismatic figure like the Hero of Ferelden...she was just a woman who wanted to look out for her family. After the Deep Roads, she was going to get her family settled and protected and spend the rest of her life reading and doing number puzzles and building up a library she could pass on to her own children, hopefully in her mother's old estate if they could get it back. Mother would actually remember what it was like to be happy, and Beth wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. They'd begin a whole new branch of the original Amell line, this one with a wild history that would set them apart from the other nobility in Kirkwall, and maybe they could help build a library and improve things a bit for the non-criminal half of Lowtown.

Her destiny was to get a good life for her mother and sister after all they had suffered. Through fair means or foul.

That was all.

_She_ would decide what she would do with her life, not the Maker or any other interchangeable entity exactly like Him from the past, and certainly not from some vague idea of predestined events like fate or destiny.

Alessa stood on the top of Sundermount beside Merrill and watched the dragon that had saved them from the Blightlands fly toward the horizon, scowling. Flemeth could take her dire predictions and talk of far off destiny and stuff it.

She wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud, though.

They were silent as they departed the Dalish camp. The Keeper seemed to be the only person who regretted seeing Merrill go; the rest of the clan seemed to fear and scorn her. Hawke wondered if that fear and scorn was fierce enough to drive Merrill away from the only life she'd ever known. She wondered why using blood magic was so important to her.

Merrill kept her back straight and her eyes forward, but Aveline, Bethany, and Hawke all averted their eyes in an attempt to give her some privacy, because the pride in her posture couldn't hide the tears in her eyes. Maybe it was that vulnerability that kept tugging on Hawke's instincts. There was no way she was going to just drop Merrill off in Kirkwall of all places and say goodbye.

At the same time, Keeper Marethari's sad, worried stare haunted Hawke long after they were out of sight.

* * *

"Varric is going to meet us at the path you mentioned," Hawke told Aveline as they made their way down the mountain. She looked at her sheepishly. "If I'd known we would need some fighting power coming to meet the Dalish, I would have asked him to come along. I came up here expecting to avoid fighting at all costs."

Aveline nodded. She imagined she could still feel hidden eyes on them all the way down the mountain; she wouldn't have been surprised to discover the Dalish were making sure they were really leaving.

"Not all humans are as nice as you," Merrill said by way of explanation. She and Bethany had been talking quietly as they moved down. Aveline couldn't make out what they were saying, but the result was Merrill looked a little less nervous as they moved further away from her clan and Bethany seemed less nervous to be around a blood mage. Granted, it was kind of hard to take the evil blood magic part quite seriously with Merrill when she kept picking flowers along the path and weaving them together, which seemed to be a nervous habit. She'd already wound a chain of flowers around Bethany's wrist and even as they walked, she was tying one around Hawke's. If she made one for Aveline, she was going to have to find a polite way to refuse; she was _not_ going into a battle with raiders with a pretty flower bracelet on her wrist.

She looked at Hawke, who didn't seem to have any problem with the idea of battling raiders with flowers on her wrist, she was carefully adjusting it to the prettiest flowers showed. "Are you sure you can trust that dwarf, Hawke?"

"To keep a secret? Not on your life. To keep his word about helping us? Yep."

"He's nothing like his brother, Aveline," Bethany assured her. "And he may not look it, but he's an amazing fighter with that crossbow of his."

"Ah, yes, the infamous repeating crossbow of Varric Tethras. I hope he knows stealing that thing is the lifelong dream of many a thief in Kirkwall."

"I wouldn't suggest trying. He's _very_ attached to Bianca," Hawke said.

"Bianca? He named it?"

"That's what he calls her."

"Why?"

"He won't tell us," Bethany said, sounding a little put out.

Aveline just shook her head, looking up as they rounded a bend. Varric was indeed waiting at the path for them, but the woman beside him made her draw up short and narrow her eyes, even as Hawke said, "Isabela?"

Varric shrugged. "She invited herself along."

Hawke scratched her head. "Ah...well, Varric, Isabela, this is Merrill. She's coming back with us to Kirkwall for...um...independent study. Merrill, Aveline, this is Varric Tethras and that's Isabela."

"We've met," Aveline said shortly. She had crossed paths with the pirate...she claimed to have once been a captain...a couple of times before. She was a lovely woman, dark skinned and dark haired, with her eyes a striking contrast of tiger gold. She wore a chemise that barely kept her from being hit with an indecent exposure charge, thigh high boots, and a lot of golden jewelry.

The kindest thing she could say about Isabela was she at least had the decency to look like trouble the moment you laid eyes on her.

The pirate grinned at Hawke. "Attacking mysterious ambushers sounded like fun. Besides, I owe you for helping me out with that nasty bit of business at the Chantry the other night."

Aveline cut her eyes toward Hawke, who had the distinct expression of someone who had just been caught out. "That was you?"

"We didn't _mean_ to get in a fight there," Hawke hedged. Bethany suddenly found something on the ground at her shuffling feet absolutely fascinating.

Aveline crossed her arms, glowering at them. Isabela's ringing laugh interrupted her before she could speak. "And you brought Her Nibs of the Guard along as well! Too bored to wait for me to cause trouble this time around, Guardswoman?"

"You seem to cause trouble just by breathing," Aveline snapped.

"They were slavers, Aveline!" Bethany exclaimed. "That bastard kept yelling at Isabela because she let the slaves go!"

"He was hiding in the Chantry and sending people out after her, and he had a whole gang with him there. We couldn't just let him take her," Hawke said, spreading her hands in a helpless gesture.

Aveline sighed, knowing the Hawke girls well enough to know they wouldn't have deliberately provoked a fight like that in the Chantry. Isabela on the other hand...

"You know, your Guard-Captain is a lot more fun to handle." There was a mocking note in Isabela's voice.

"At any rate," Varric said hastily as Aveline glared at her, "I figured it couldn't hurt to have one more fighting hand along. Especially now..." He looked over the bandages and other signs they'd been in a fight. "I guess the elves picked a fight after all?"

"Oh, no!" Merrill said. "That was the corpses that kept rising as we went up the mountain!"

"And the spiders on the way to the Dalish camp," Hawke said, looking sheepish again.

"And the robbers that jumped us right outside Kirkwall," Bethany added.

"But my clan didn't do anything," Merrill concluded triumphantly.

"I thought traveling with _you_ would bring the most excitement about," Isabela said to Varric. "At this rate, I'll miss out on all the fun!"

"I hate to break up this comedy, but there is an ambush being set up not far from here," Aveline said pointedly, wanting to bring attention to their mission as well as distract herself from the fact she had no idea how in blazes she'd ended up involved with such an utterly strange and chaotic group of people.

"Sorry, Aveline." The light dancing merrily in Hawke's eyes made her attempt to look contrite a wasted effort.

The guardswoman headed up the path, Hawke right behind her. Aveline didn't need to look back, she could actually feel the people behind her, from Hawke to Merrill, shifting into a more battle ready state of mind. Feeling that gathering of power, magical and physical both, at her back as they approached the area made her rethink her opinion from a minute before. Skill was skill, no matter what form it took...

Since Bethany always automatically looked to her sister and Varric seemed to be inclined to do the same, Aveline kept an eye back on Hawke. She had a cool head in battle, she'd noticed that at Ostargar. She would not have made it to a high position in the King's Army, but she did have an eye for picking up on people's strengths and guiding them to the best position to use them, Aveline thought with approval. Too bad she wouldn't join the Guard.

She felt easy enough with Hawke at her back as she caught movement up a hill to her left. She whipped her sword out and heard a whistling sound above her head as Hawke tossed something at the rocks ahead of them. There was a loud bang as whatever vial she'd thrown exploded when it hit them. There were cries of pain, the well coordinated ambush thrown off balance for a few precious moments it couldn't afford.

They were too well equipped to be mere highwaymen, Aveline thought dispassionately. But not well equipped enough. They fell by her sword, by arrow, by lightning from the sky and from turning toward one threat only to invite a dagger in the back. When the blur of violence slowed, leaving them all a bit torn up but victorious. Aveline frowned. None of them had even tried to surrender or bargain.

"They were coming straight for you," Hawke observed, wiping her daggers clean as she came up beside her. She was pale, her lips set in a tight line. A quick glance confirmed there were several bodies that still had breath in them across the battlefield. She hoped they'd take advantage of that lucky second chance, but she doubted it. "Not for all of us, we were just a bonus. They were focused on _you_ , Aveline. Do you think someone told them you were coming."

"No." Aveline stared down at the bodies, troubled. "No, Hawke, I don't think they wanted me specifically. They focused on the armor. On the guard."

* * *

"Coming here of my own free will seems wrong somehow...like diddling a sister," Isabela eyed the barracks with distrust, though she made a soft hum of interest a couple of times when a particularly attractive guardsman or woman passed into her view.

Varric chuckled. Bethany sputtered, her face turning red, and Merrill looked from her to Isabela, blinking in confused interest.

They were waiting while Aveline reported to the Guard-Captain. Hawke dearly hoped she was rubbing the fact she had been right and he'd been wrong in his face, but she doubted it. They were getting a whole lot of strange looks too. Donnic was doing some paperwork at one of the desks and he had just smiled at them bemusedly when they had come in, but there were some hostile glances and mutters aimed their way. Particularly Merrill and Varric. Hawke, Bethany, and Isabela might have looked like trouble, but at least they were human. Varric wasn't the least bit bothered by it, but Merrill shrank away, hunching her shoulders as if to make herself smaller.

Isabela and Bethany kept asking her questions and Hawke shifted ever so slightly so she was standing slightly in front of the Dalish woman. One of the guards glared at them, looking on the verge of saying something. Hawke met his glare, staring him down until he walked away, muttering.

"Wh...why would you say something like that?" Beth was still sputtering.

"I'm a master of descriptive language, sweetness," Isabela said, chuckling.

"What does it mean?" Merrill asked. "Who is your sister, Isabela?"

Hawke tensed up, shushing them all suddenly and leaning in toward the door. In the silence that fell, they could hear Jeven's voice, yelling loud enough Donnic looked up from his paperwork, his eyes narrowed.

Hawke crept forward and pressed her ear to the door to try and make out what Jeven was saying.

"...may have been put up for lieutenant in your first year, but I'll have no show offs in my command. Have I made myself clear?"

Aveline's reply was too low for her to hear.

"Report to your post before I have you and your Ferelden accomplices jailed." He spat the word Ferelden like it was a dirty word.

Hawke backed away from the door hastily right in time to avoid being smacked as Aveline shoved out. Her face had that tight, set expression she got when her temper was at full boil and she was using every ounce of training and discipline to keep it from showing.

"Well, _he_ certainly seemed grateful," Bethany said, indignant.

"I thought those were bad men, why is he angry?" Merrill asked, looking mystified.

"Maybe he was counting on getting his cut from the profits tonight," Varric said very quietly. Hawke turned her head to meet his gaze, agreeing silently.

If Aveline heard him, she didn't show it, but her voice was quiet as she looked at Hawke, finally admitting out loud what she hadn't quite brought herself to say: "This isn't the first time he's made me wonder like this..." Her lips pressed into a thin line for a moment, her eyes narrowed in thought. _Shouldn't have threatened her friends, Jeven,_ Hawke thought. Aveline moved toward a pillar on the wall that held dozens of sheets of paper. The duty roster. Her mutter to herself floated back to them. "What have I stepped in now?"

Hawke drifted after her. Even as she reached for the roster, Brennan, the young recruit she'd met the other day, came hurrying up to her. "Aveline! I don't care what Jeven says, I owe you for clearing that ambush! Saved me a mess of trouble."

Aveline turned toward her. "Brennan, that route was yours?"

"It was. Single patrol; I would have been dead for sure."

"Single patrol in an area everyone and their brother have been warned to stay away from?" Hawke said.

"Not very subtle," Varric said under his breath.

Brennan shrugged. "It had been clear for weeks. There was nothing unusual about it until we heard about you and Aveline. The captain reassigned me after he heard what you did. Almost snatched my fingers off to get the satchel back."

Hawke felt a chill go through her, saw Aveline's eyes go steely. "The satchel for running stuff to the outposts?"

Brennan nodded. "Usually it's just an updated copy of the roster. Satchel for that night was heavy though. Anyway, thanks again, Aveline, you're a good one." She grinned at Hawke over her shoulder as she walked away. "Nice bracelet."

Aveline watched her go as Hawke looked down, adjusting the flower bracelet that had managed to somehow stay on her wrist, though it was a bit bloodied now. Aveline's temper had cooled, leaving behind a cold anger Hawke knew was much more dangerous. "So that satchel gets heavy the same day we uncover an ambush," she said softly.

"Messy set up," Isabela commented.

"That explains why they were so focused on you..." Hawke shook her head slowly. How long had Jeven been sending his own men to their deaths?

"Guardsmen die in Kirkwall," Aveline's voice was soft. "It's a dangerous place. And now I have to wonder who the next one who gets an 'easy' patrol won't come back..."

"You need help keeping an eye on whoever gets passed that heavy satchel next, Aveline, just say the word," Hawke said.

"Walking the streets of Kirkwall is dangerous, we ought to do something about that anyway," Bethany added.

Aveline felt a rush of gratitude and smiled at them, ignoring Isabela's exasperated sigh, though that steely look stayed in her eyes. "Threatening my friends and killing off my guardsmen...not letting that one go, Captain."


	9. Unshackled

" _The Templars have to have_ something _to stand against, otherwise what's the use of having them? It scares you to think of what they would decide to focus on if they didn't have the mages. And you should be scared, because one of those things would probably be you."_

**\- Mior Andras to some of the nobles of Denerim**

* * *

Varric had never liked Athenril much, at least on a personal level. She was a leader with the same kind of iron hand as her mother, relatively honorable, and Varric had no doubt that when Madam passed the reins on to her, she would run the operation with equal skill. But she lacked Madam's ability to inspire true loyalty and affection in her followers. Corin had that easy charisma but Athenril was inflexible on all levels, dealing with everything with the same straightforward, and sometimes brutal, methods.

Gamlen had told him he could find Hawke and Bethany here. He mentioned they were supposedly free of their debt today, so Varric had come to meet them and invite them up for a drink at the Hanged Man. They'd toast their new freedom and discuss some business for the expedition.

One of the only well known entrances into the Smuggler's Caves sat on the Docks, a small shack built around it. Nondescript and easy to overlook, which fit perfectly for Athenril to run business out of. He found Bethany hovering outside the door, twisting her fingers together anxiously as she listened to the growing argument within. Hawke had told her to wait outside because she didn't want to draw Athenril's attention to her, afraid the smuggler might resort to threatening to turn Bethany over to the Templars.

A glance through the window showed Athenril pacing back and forth across the office, the furniture and decorations quite fine, at odds with the shabby appearance of the shack on the outside. Hawke was standing in front of the desk, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression cold. Damik was leaning against the wall, looking smug.

Varric moved away from the window before Athenril could get a glimpse of him, listening close.

"...a year. That was the deal. A year working for _us_. You think I wouldn't know you were working for the Merchant's Guild behind my back?" Varric winced at the icy tone of Athenril's voice. Shit, if he'd known the smuggler was going to try and use working with him against them, he would have waited to approach them.

"We aren't working for the Guild. We have not been working for anyone permanently except you. We're working with Varric to raise funds for Bartrand's Deep Road Expedition. _Bartrand's_ expedition. Not the Merchant Guild's." Hawke's voice was calm, reasonable, which only seemed to anger Athenril further. "I don't know why you're so upset. You never objected to us doing side jobs."

"They were minor things, nothing that took your focus away from the real job at hand. You've been more focused on this _partnership_ of yours than working off your debt the past few weeks. We got you into this damned city, remember. That wasn't Gamlen's money that bribed the guards to let your family in."

Hawke wasn't budging an inch. In her own way, she could be just as inflexible as Athenril. Varric supposed the fact they had a business relationship was the only reason the two of them hadn't torn each other's throats out. "You've had it all back _with interest_."

"That's not..."

There was a rustling of paper. "And before you call me a liar, there is a record of how much you used and how much we earned for you. Nice thing about having a...what was that you called it?...an obsession with numbers? I keep a mean tally sheet. We've even worked a couple weeks beyond the year in order to help you finish up some of the jobs. So don't tell me we haven't worked our debt off. And don't act like this came out of the blue, you knew from the start we wanted free once the debt was paid."

"Your debt is paid when I say it is!"

"Or Madam."

Athenril laughed bitterly. "You think my mother is going to take your word over mine?"

"Since I suspect you will keep coming up with excuses to keep us on, I'd say it's worth the risk."

There was dead silence beyond the door and Varric's hand inched toward Bianca automatically He saw Bethany straighten, looking almost panicked. He held out a hand. "Easy, Sunshine..." he murmured, trying to calm her.

An imperious voice spoke from behind them before either of them could do anything: "Master Tethras, you are in my way." He spun around to come face to face with Madam herself. In full daylight, no less! He stepped aside. Bethany hesitated, afraid but unwilling to move if it would cause harm to her sister. Madam swept her gaze to her. "Young lady, you may not work for me any longer, but that is no reason to be rude."

Bethany blinked at her, absorbing her words. She stepped aside and Madam swept past her. She opened the door and Varric peered in. Athenril was behind the desk, leaning against it, her body language tense. It was Damik he had been worried about, and the way he was standing away from the wall, his hands at his sides, ready to grab his weapons, told Varric he was right.

Both elves dropped back when Madam entered, looking shocked. Madam turned to Hawke and handed her something. "Corin left this for you."

Hawke took it like she was expecting Madam to bite her. "Left it?"

"I imagine whatever letter he's left will tell you where he's gone off to."

"Mother?" Athenril came around the desk, looking concerned.

Madam gave Hawke a glare that was ruined by the amused way her eyes sparkled, which confused Varric to no end. The elf matriarch turned back to her daughter. "Your brother is gone. We'll discuss this once Hawke leaves. It's probably best she's no longer working with us, she appears to be a bad influence." She made a sharp, dismissive gesture and Hawke took the hint, scurrying out the door. Madam snapped it closed behind her.

Hawke blinked at them. "Oh, hello, Varric, what are you doing here?"

"Getting some grand inspiration for my next serial, apparently."

"So...I suppose we're free to go?" Bethany looked toward the dock-house.

Hawke untied the string holding the small package Madame had handed to her. It was a note wrapped around a rolled leather case that held a beautifully crafted set of lockpicks. Hawke stared at it for a moment, then looked at the letter. She read it, her lips curving into a smile, and then handed it to Varric, chuckling.

Varric raised an eyebrow, scanning what turned out to be Corin's farewell to all of them. By the time he reached the end of it, he was chuckling just like Hawke:

_Alessa,_

_I figured if I was going to make an exit more grand than yours, I would have to do it pretty soon. Remember that theater troupe that had the Chantry sisters screaming in outrage? They put on the kinds of performances that people feel guilty about liking, which sounds perfect for me, don't you agree?_

_Good luck with the grand expedition and tell Varric if he does well by you, I'll consider that plenty of payment for whatever coin he owes me._

(Varric denied ever owing him a copper.)

_Take care of your mother and that gorgeous little sister of yours, the Templars don't deserve her._

_Please accept these as a gift to one of my greatest pupils and use them wisely. Or very unwisely, whichever works._

_And keep your eye out, I'm sure we'll swing around to Kirkwall one day, if only to keep them on their toes._

_Corin_

_P.S. It seems those slavers that took over the Amell estate have suffered a severe setback. A whole bunch of their best thugs guarding the estate have mysteriously disappeared and it will take them quite a bit to build their numbers back up sufficiently. Quite mysterious, eh?_

Alessa tucked the lockpicks into her pack, smiling, turning her gaze toward the horizon, murmuring softly: "Good luck, Cor."

* * *

"What's a Grey Warden doing in Darktown? Alone?" Hawke took a drink of ale, flipping through the stack of papers Varric had handed to her. One of the definite upsides of having her as a partner was he could dump some of the paperwork on her when Bartrand dumped it on him. He had to agree with Athenril on that point: Hawke had a weird thing for numbers, though he was interested in why she seemed to feel the need to hide it.

Varric was attempting to teach Merrill how to play Wicked Grace as they talked. He didn't know what the elf had been thinking coming into the Hanged Man alone, but he was glad Isabela was there to drive off the man who'd offered to buy her the strongest drink in the establishment. That wouldn't have ended well. "Don't know. I've been able to find out that he's from Ferelden, same as you. But the people in Darktown seem to be...protective of him. Asking too many questions can be dangerous. You know Lirene?"

"I do." Bethany was sipping a glass of wine on the strict promise they wouldn't tell Mother about it. "She runs a shop in Lowtown. She's helped a lot of the refugees. Helps them find food and jobs. She's a fine woman."

"Oh, wait, was she the one you gave some coin to in her donation box? I heard Uncle Gamlen snarling at you for it."

Bethany's lip curled. "Yes, that was what he was upset about."

"Oh, well then I'm glad I stomped on his foot when I was moving past him to get out the door."

Varric snickered. Gamlen really wasn't a match for his nieces. If he wasn't such an ass, Varric might have felt sorry for him. "The Grey Warden came in with a bunch of Ferelden refugees. If anyone knows about him, it's probably Lirene.

* * *

Since Bethany knew Lirene better, Alessa let her do the talking. Isabela claimed she was busy but Merrill, giving up on understanding the rules of cards, had joined them, curious to meet a Grey Warden. She'd only ever met one.

Uncle Gamlen made it a point at least once a week to mention haughtily that she and Alessa were actually lucky to have steady work in the past year. Most Ferelden refugees weren't so lucky. She refused to give him credit for it; their father had made sure they had the kind of skills that would allow them to get by pretty much any way they could. If they hadn't worked for Athenril, they would have found someone else who needed a sharp knife and a knowledge of the shadows.

But most Ferelden refugees hadn't been raised apostate and on the run. They were farmers, soldiers, merchants, people who had lost their entire lives and ended up in a city that didn't need them. Bethany had heard enough about 'Ferelden leeches' over the past year to last her a lifetime. She'd overheard a pair of ladies in Hightown with Orlesian accents grumbling about how they wished all of them would just go back to their blighted country. Of course they would not consider the fact that most of the refugees would be happy to return to Ferelden now that the Blight was over. A lot of them were desperate to, in fact. They were working hard to save up the coin for it, but a lot of them could barely feed themselves and their families.

Which is why she ignored Uncle Gamlen and plunked a coin or two into Lirene's donation box whenever she could.

It was also why she understood completely why Lirene was so reluctant to talk about the Grey Warden. According to the merchant, he was a mage. A healer. Who ran a free clinic in Darktown, healing the desperate and the penniless for no coin.

Bethany tried to think of anyone she knew who would do that and came up blank. Especially a mage. Even with people protecting him, it was a risk to draw attention like that to himself. Anyone might sell him out...

Apparently she wasn't the only one thinking along those lines, because as soon as she emerged from Lirene's store and they headed for Darktown, a group of thugs moved to block their path. To her surprise, their leader accused them of trying to turn the healer over to the Templars, starting no one would turn down the reward for turning in an apostate. Since it wasn't wise to point out two of them actually were apostates, he would never know the irony of that accusation.

That didn't mean she couldn't point out the fact they were just trying to keep away from the Templars too. The man started when he heard her accent and looked even more surprised when she confirmed they were Fereldens themselves. "Your clothes..I figured you for a Kirkwaller."

Bethany tossed her head pertly. "We didn't do anything to deserve that kind of insult."

Alessa snickered.

"Hey now," Varric- born and raised in Kirkwall -said, though there wasn't any real anger in his voice. Bethany gave him a somewhat apologetic shrug.

The last of the tension drained out of the men confronting them. Their leader gave them a little bow. "May the Maker bless the rule of our king, Alistair."

Alessa watched them thoughtfully as they moved on. "I admit I'm really curious about the king. Freeing the Circle from templar control. Forming official agreements with city elves and dwarves. Allowing an Orlesian elf to take over the Grey Wardens and actually working with her...no one is going to be forgetting him anytime soon."

Bethany smiled in agreement, feeling a bit of a pang. They were forming a new life here, but a part of her would always long for Ferelden. And to think, now that the Circle wasn't under direct control of the Templars, she would willingly have gone to it back in Ferelden.

"Yes, I hear things aren't going well for the Templars in Ferelden," Varric commented. "Apparently, they had their hooks in the Grey Wardens. Had Wardens in the ranks still reporting to the templars and trying to control the Warden mages. There was some kind of uprising and the Warden Commander purged most of them from the ranks."

"She kicked them out?" Bethany asked.

"She killed 'em, Sunshine." Varric looked at her soberly.

Bethany's eyes widened. "She'll bring the templars down on her hard now."

"Not officially unless they want to make it look like they were trying to take over the Grey Wardens," Alessa murmured. "Maker's breath, what a holy disaster that would be. It would bring Wardens from all over Thedas crashing down on the Order. It might even get the First's attention. They've worked too hard to get Grey Wardens back in Ferelden..."

"I haven't heard anything like that happening, so no use worrying," Varric commented. "Although I wonder if the templars here are taking out their anger on the refugees because of it."

That was a troubling thought indeed. Bethany turned it over in her mind as they made their way to Darktown, shaking it off as they entered.

Darktown was not a place to go into distracted.

Alessa took Merrill while she and Varric split off to take a quick walk around the immediate area, agreeing to meet up in a few minutes with a strict promise among them that none of them would go off alone. Only the worst of humanity and the utterly desperate were found in Darktown. Caught alone by a large enough group of either one and it didn't matter how powerful you were.

 _To find the healer, follow the lit lantern._ That was what Lirene had said. But it wasn't the lit lanterns that brought Bethany to the clinic. It was noticing a sewer tunnel not far from the door. She moved closer to it, wide eyed. She and Alessa had carefully been looking for it ever since they'd decided to try and clear out their family's estate. The faint mark, no doubt put there by the people that had to navigate those sewers on a regular basis, confirmed it was the one they were looking for. Excitement rose in her, and she closed her fingers over the key that had never left her pocket since her mother had given it to her...

"Sunshine, don't get ahead of me like that." Varric's worried voice brought her back to the task at hand and she turned toward him. "Sorry, it's just...that's the tunnel we've been looking for."

"Back to your family's place?" Varric looked at it sharply.

Bethany nodded. "And they haven't had a chance to replace all their men yet..."

"Easy, Sunshine, one quest at a time," Varric chuckled. "Business before personal."

"That's your brother's motto, not yours," Bethany scoffed, but turned away from the tunnel. She paused as she took in the sight of the building in front of them, and then pointed. "Those look like unusually bright lanterns to me..."

* * *

_A walking corpse had an unfair advantage in an argument. Anders turned away from Justice with that thought firmly in mind to find Mior watching them, holding Ser Pounce-a-lot in her arms. She stroked the cat lightly, cocking her head, her deep green eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter. She handed the cat over to him as he approached. "Another lecture about your responsibility to your fellow mages?"_

" _Do I have some kind of sign on my forehead that says 'I'm a revolutionary!' or something?" He tucked Ser Pounce-a-lot into his robes._

" _Not that I can see." She was rather like a cat herself, Mior. She didn't match her cousin's legendary beauty, but she was an attractive woman who moved with a smooth, easy grace he couldn't help but admire._

" _I'll admit I'd rather argue with him than talk to that lady that was chewing at your ear." He mimicked the woman's high, whining voice, making Mior laugh. "'What was the Alienage in Val Royeaux like?'_ "

" _Why, it was horrible, lots of people crammed in a small space and no food, madam. Like every Alienage under the Chantry's grace and kindness. Except worse."_

" _And the Maker's blessing upon you too, you snooty bitch."_

_She snickered. "I rather implied that last part instead of saying it right out loud."_

" _Diplomacy from you? I think the Void just split open."_

" _No, darling, that will happen the day you lead a revolution..."_

He wasn't quite at that point, but he was getting there. He felt Justice stir in his mind at the memory and shook it away, trying to ignore the fatigue nagging at him. And the melancholy. He missed his commander. So did Justice, in his own way. He didn't believe Rolan for an instant that she had agreed to the templars attacking him in that final battle before he had fled. She wouldn't have without speaking to him first. And if Mior had truly believed him an abomination and felt he needed to be terminated, she would have done it herself.

But Mior hadn't been there when the templars attacked. They'd used her absence to tighten their hold, keep an eye on him and the other mages in the ranks.

He turned to his next patient, a young boy, smiling as reassuringly at the family as he could. He called his magic from his core, feeling the familiar sweep of mana tingling in his veins. The child was in a bad way. He could feel that as he let did that odd, mental sidestep it always did when healing, feeling the pulse of the Fade in the back of his head. It was poison, he concluded. Not the kind assassins used. Something he'd eaten, probably. Bad meat. Bad water. Any of the number of things that killed off the people of Lowtown by the hundreds within a year.

He moved his hands slowly in the air above the boy, sending magic surging through his small body, driving the poison out. His family must live in the path of one of the foundries, because there was already traces of chokedamp in his lungs. Anders risked pushing himself a little harder to clear that away as well.

In his mind, Justice stirred again, alerted by the presence of someone who had just entered the clinic. Anders could see her out of the corner of his eye but didn't lift his head, keeping his eyes on the boy. He was stirring. Anders let out a soft breath as the boy blinked sleepily up at his savior, his color already getting better. His mother let out a soft sob, clapping a hand over her mouth, then moving forward and drawing the child into her arms, cradling him against her, babbling thanks. His father laid a hand on Anders's shoulder, concerned, as the mage stumbled away from the table. The concern became anxiety as Anders murmured for him to get out as quickly as he could. He'd caught a glimpse of the woman and the dwarf as he'd stumbled away. They weren't here for healing. They were too well outfitted to be refugees.

He wasn't in any shape for a fight, but he wasn't going to get this family, or any of his patients, involved. His stumbling had a purpose, bringing him closer to the pillar nearby...and the staff leaning against it. For a moment, Justice stirred deep within him, but he forced him back. The last thing he needed was for the spirit to come forward in him now.

As the family scurried out of the clinic, his hand closed around the staff and he whirled to face the intruders, snarling. "I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?"

The woman...girl, really...stopped, her eyes widening a bit, and held her hands up in a placating gesture. Anders's gaze was drawn to the staff strapped to her back. There was a faint charge in the air he would normally have attributed to his own casting except it felt...different somehow.

_Mage?_

He studied her more closely. There was no malice in her eyes, on that lovely face. Her voice was soft and earnest as she spoke. "We mean no harm. We're just here to talk."

The dwarf spoke up: "We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads. Rumor has it, you were a Warden..."

Before Anders could speak, the door creaked open and two more women stepped in. The first one, a small human woman, drew up short. She took in his posture, the staff he had raised, before her eyes moved to the young woman. She was a blur of movement, suddenly standing in front of the girl, her eyes- two different colors, he noted with mild interest -narrowed threateningly.

"Alessa, don't." The girl clapped a hand on her shoulder, tugging her back, but the other one didn't move.

Anders lowered his staff, more intrigued now than anything. They looked different, but there were enough features shared between them that he could conclude the two women were probably sisters. He slid the staff into its clasp at his back, holding up a hand to indicate he wasn't going to attack. The second he did, the newcomer straightened and stepped back, though she still eyed him warily and angled herself so she was in front of the girl.

"Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?" he finally asked. "I'm not going. Those bastards made me give up my cat." He scowled at the memory. The Warden Commander hadn't ordered it, but again, it was something Mior hadn't been around to stop.

"Your...cat?" The girl, she was definitely a mage, he was certain of that now, blinked at him.

"Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot. He hated the Deep Roads."

The third woman, an elf who also appeared to be a mage, which pushed this from unusual to outright bizarre, giggled. "Ser Pounce-a-lot."

"Don't laugh, he was a noble beast. Almost got torn in half by a genlock once. He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood too. The blighted Wardens said he made me too soft. I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine. But you're obviously not from the Wardens, after all."

"No. We're part of an expedition into the Deep Roads," the mage's sister, Alessa, spoke for the first time.

"Do you know a way in?" the dwarf asked.

Anders moved to pour a glass of water from the pitcher on a rickety table against the wall, suddenly tired. An expedition into the Deep Roads? As in they were going into it willingly and not because they had a mission to fight darkspawn? They must all be mad. He didn't have time for this. He had patients to attend to and he still had to find a way to get to Karl. "I'll die a happy man if I never think about the blighted Deep Roads again. You can't imagine what I've come through to get here. I'm not interested..."

His thoughts stalled, then raced. He couldn't get to Karl alone. He'd already established that. He turned to look at them again, looking them over with a critical eye. Two mages, and the other two were well equipped. The dwarf's armor looked a little more expensive but they all looked capable enough. "Although...a favor for a favor. Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I'll help you."

The mage girl pushed past her sister, which earned her a scowl that she ignored. "What kind of favor?"

"I have a Warden map of the depths in this area. But there's a price." Anders focused on her, keeping his face blank. He was in the position to make demands at the moment, he didn't want them to know how much he needed their help. If she was a mage, here right now, she was an apostate. Surely she, of all of them, would see why they had to help him. "I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend. A mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me get him past them, and you shall have your map."

"Get him out of the Gallows?" Alessa asked skeptically.

"There are ways, no matter what the Templars want you to think. But no. Getting out of the Gallows is his half. I've already sent word for him to meet me at the Chantry tonight. Join us there, and we'll ensure that no matter who is with him, we'll all walk away free."

"Fight templars in this city? We might have better luck with the darkspawn." Alessa had tipped her head back, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling as she considered.

The mage looked uncertain, turning her head to look at her sister. She murmured something. Anders couldn't pick up the words, but the worried tone was clear enough.

He couldn't keep the edge from coming to his voice. "If we fight the templars, it is because they decide that anyone who befriends a mage deserves death without questioning."

The mage flinched visibly. Anders understood her fear, but it wasn't an excuse, not when a mage could be helped to escape the Templars' grasp. He spoke as sternly as he could. "These are my terms. If you want my help with the expedition, meet me in the Chantry tonight."

* * *

He half expected them not to show up. But they did.

"If we get into another fight in the Chantry, Aveline is going to kill us," Hawke muttered to Varric.

Anders glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, but she didn't elaborate on that rather intriguing statement. "Let me do the talking. You watch for templars."

He led the way into the darkened Chantry. Other than a few brothers and sisters attending to the alter, there was no one there. Bethany looked up at the towering statue of Andraste that dominated the echoing space. "The chantry in Lothering had a statue of Andraste too, but she didn't look as...stern...there," she murmured.

"In a city where they lock their mages up in cells at night, it's better to focus on the conquering warrior she-demon aspect of her. Not her kindness," he whispered back.

She frowned slightly, glancing back up the statue again as they carefully made their way to the stairs, moving to the upper gallery of the room and the series of alcoves beyond. Anders felt a surge of relief when he saw Karl waiting in one of them, his back to them.

He didn't turn as Anders approached. "Anders, I know you too well. I knew you would never give up..."

His voice was odd. Flat, dull...nothing like his usual voice. "What's wrong? Why are you talking like..."

He trailed off as Karl turned and he saw the sun branded onto his forehead.

The symbol of the Tranquil.

"I was too rebellious. Like you. The templers knew I needed to be...made an example of."

Dimly, he heard Hawke swear in a sharp, harsh language behind him and Bethany gasp, but he was too numb to register the sounds. _Maker's breath, no..._ "No..." he echoed the thought aloud.

"Anders." Hawke said his name urgently, but he still couldn't tear his eyes away from the shell of what had once been his friend.

Karl continued, oblivious, only able to speak as he'd been told to, his face vacant and his eyes blank. "How else will mages ever master themselves? You'll understand, Anders."

" _Anders!"_

Karl's eyes drifted past him. "As soon as the templars teach you to control yourself."

And it finally hit him through the shock. Anders whirled around as templers came from every direction, surrounding them. A trap.

"This is the apostate," Karl informed them.

They'd made him Tranquil as _bait_?

The world rippled around Anders. Suddenly the dull shock was replaced with a sharp awareness of _everything_. The scent of candle wax and polished wood around them. The grating sounds as Hawke pulled her daggers and the hard click as Varric cocked this crossbow. The terror and defiance on Bethany's face as she drew her staff. They would surely take her too. After they killed Varric and her sister. Make her Tranquil, just like Karl. _Karl..._

" _No!"_ He couldn't stop the cry that came from his throat even as his voice shifted, his mind no longer his own as Justice _came forward_...

 _...they had no right to do such a thing to Karl to anyone to use them take them so and Karl all mages would be_ avenged _and they would not would not would_

" _You will never take another mage as you took him!"_ Justice roared.

* * *

It happened so fast, Bethany only had time to turn as Anders fell to his knees. And then everyone was staring at him. Even the templars paused in their advance, momentarily stunned.

His flesh _cracked open_. Blue light flared from the cracks, it was like that light was expanding from within him, breaking open the frail shell holding it. When he leapt to his feet, his voice wasn't his own. One of the templars yelled and attacked, and Bethany shuddered as a wave of...the templars probably called it holy energy, but the feel of it wasn't holy at all...crashed over them. The spell she'd started to call died on her lips. It felt like a fist wrapping around her brain and squeezing mercilessly, trying to tear a piece of her out.

This was only the second time in her life she'd felt it. She stumbled back. She heard Alessa call her name. Her vision swam and turned nightmarish as memories she tried to keep repressed swam to the surface. A dark chantry...the sound of a templar's voice... _no_...

The templar's magic suppressing abilities didn't seem to affect Anders...or whatever he had become. He swept past her, pale light and dark swirling energy flowing around him. The first unlucky templar in his path started to scream as he attacked.

She dimly saw a templar coming at her from the side and turned, whipping her staff around the way her father had taught her for the same reason she always carried a staff with a point to the end of it. She blocked the templar's blow and moved out of the way, spinning the staff so she could drive the point of it into the vulnerable spot always in someone's armor right beneath the arm. She felt it hit home, felt the dense fog around her mind starting to lift, allowing her to think and cast spells again. She backed away as the templar roared in pain, pulling back and trying to turn toward her. Alessa crashed into him like a living missile, delivering a flying, two footed kick directly into his side that made him stagger. Alessa knelt on his chest, pushing on the front of his helmet to expose his throat and punching him there hard. He let out a gurgling sound, reaching out, and Bethany stomped hard on his arm to bring it down.

She saw the flash of a blade and saw her sister hesitate, her eyes flicking up to Bethany, then down to the templar again. She could read her sister's thoughts like they were her own.

 _He'd seen Bethany's face._ Both _of their faces and Varric's too. He had to know Bethany was a mage._

Alessa brought the dagger down and raked it hard across his throat. Bethany backed away from the sudden, hot spurt of blood as he gurgled again and his life raced out of him.

Varric yelled and there was the heavy thud of bolts hitting metal. Alessa staggered to her feet and whirled to come to his aid. Bethany turned her head to look around, but there were no more templars. Not living ones anyway. The rest of them lay in a half hazard circle around Anders, bodies twisted, smoke rising from their scorched armor.

The other mage swayed on his feet, the cracks on his body closing, the glow fading. He turned and his eyes, brown again, met hers. For an instant, there was a world of misery and self loathing in his eyes that shook her to the core, then he closed them and took a deep breath, looking around. The last templar was dead via one too many bolts, courtesy of Bianca.

"You're hurt." Bethany looked back to see Anders standing not far from her, watching her uncertainly. He pointed and she looked down, noting with surprise there was indeed a gash on her arm and she didn't have the faintest idea how it had gotten there.

He reached forward, magic glowing around his fingertips, and laid them lightly over the wound. The shiver of energy flowed through her, clearing her mind completely and making her breath catch. The area around the cut grew pleasantly warm as her flesh drew together, not even leaving a scar. Bethany looked up at him, aware she probably should have been afraid. She'd just seen him turn into some kind of abomination, after all. But she just wasn't. Maybe she was still suffering the aftereffects of the templar's powers but she wasn't.

"I...Anders what did you do?"

The shaky voice had them all turning toward Karl, still standing where they had left him. He looked at Anders with eyes that were suddenly clear. "It's like...you brought a piece of the Fade into this world..." His face twisted into an anguished expression. "I had already forgotten what that feels like."

"Karl..." Anders took a step toward him.

Bethany hadn't thought she could be stunned anymore this night, but she stared at Karl unbelievingly. "I thought the Tranquil were cut off from the Fade," she breathed.

Karl looked at her, his expression still pained. "When you're Tranquil, you never think on your life before. But..." he looked back at Anders, "it's like the Fade itself is inside Anders. Burning like the sun." His face twisted suddenly and he pressed a hand to his forehead, reaching out toward Anders with the other hand, pleading. "Please, kill me before I forget again! I don't know how you brought it back, but it's fading."

Anders looked sickened. "Karl, no..."

Alessa, always looking for a solution, spoke hesitantly: "Is there some way we can find a...I don't know. A cure?"

Anders looked at her in disbelief. "Can you cure a beheading? The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed...there is nothing left of them to fix."

"I would rather die as a mage than live as a templar puppet," Karl said, his voice thin. He was shaking again, fear showing clearly on his face. "Emotions, dreams...all stripped away."

Bethany listened. Her chest felt tight, her throat so thick she could barely swallow. She'd seen Tranquil mages before, but the Chantry preached that it was an act of kindness if a mage couldn't control his or herself and the Tranquil she'd seen tended to agree. She had always assumed they were basically the same person they'd been before, just a little...slower to think. A sacrifice for safety. But here Karl was, the person he'd been before, unchanged, begging to die rather than go back to it. Was it the same for all Tranquil? Was it like being trapped in your own mind, aware but unable to act? Oh, Maker, how could anyone do that to another person...?

Anders's voice was almost as shaky as his friend's. "Karl, I'm sorry..."

A strange shudder passed through the other mage. "Now! It's fading..."

The change in his face and eyes was the most horrible thing Bethany had ever seen. It would have been bad enough if it had happened suddenly, but Karl was clearly aware of what was happening. The fear in his eyes brightened into terror for a brief instant before his face went slack, every ounce of animation and personality draining away. She heard Varric curse in awe and Alessa made a choked sound. Karl looked at Anders with mild curiosity. "Why do you look at me like that?"

* * *

Anders wondered if it was his curse to fail every friend he made.

Varric had broken away when they'd left the Chantry, saying he was going to stop by the Merchant's Guild. Hawke mentioned offhandedly that he was probably going to do his best to spin the templars' attention away from them. When Anders realized he was included in that, he'd made a note to seek the dwarf out and thank him later.

He washed the blood off his hands slowly, the sound of water sloshing in the bowl abnormally loud throughout the empty clinic. The knife he had used to kill Karl lay beside the bowl. Anders avoided looking at it.

Even now, Justice was a presence in the back of his head, telling him he'd done what he'd had to. That the templars had deserved to be punished. But the greater part of him couldn't help but feel the weight of failure.

Failed Karl. Failed Justice. He'd even failed Mior on some level.

"My father had this deep horror of the Rite of Tranquility."

He turned, startled, to find Bethany had followed him back. He was alarmed at first, wondering if she'd come down through Darktown alone, but he saw the door crack open and Hawke poke her head in a moment later.

Then Bethany's words registered and he looked back at her, startled. She studied him, her face pale. He had the distinct impression this night had a hard impact on her, and he was sorry for that. "He never came out and said he'd rather die than be Tranquil, but from the way he talked, you could tell which one he would have chosen. I never...I didn't understand why he would think that. Until now."

"He was a mage?"

"He escaped the Circle. He never would tell us why. I wonder if it had something do to with the Tranquil." She said it half to him and half to her sister, who had come up to her side and stood, looking between them silently.

His curiosity was aroused, but he was well aware they were the ones that deserved answers at the moment and they were clearly trying to build up to asking him. He sighed and sat down. "I guess I should...this is hard to explain."

"You don't say," Hawke said dryly. She huffed out a breath as Bethany elbowed her in the side.

Anders very nearly smiled. "When I was in Amaranthine, I met a Spirit of Justice trapped outside the Fade. We became friends. And he recognized the injustices mages in Thedas face every day." He rubbed a hand over his face. "In order to live outside the Fade, he needed a host. I offered to help him. We were going to work together, bring justice to every child ever ripped away from his mother to be sent to the Circle. But...I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside me...he changed."

"Changed?" Bethany sat in a chair near him, watching him, her voice quiet. Hawke moved to his other side, leaning against a pillar. Neither of them looked fearful or condemning, which he was glad for.

"I thought I was helping my friend. He would have...died, I guess. If that even means anything. And he wanted to help me. He knew what mages have suffered."

"You wanted to help a friend," Bethany said sympathetically. "Surely no harm can come of that."

Anders looked at her with wonder. How could she be apostate and still be so innocent? "I wish I still had your innocence. There was too much hatred in me. Justice thought he would overcome that. But my anger...when I see the templars now, things that have always outraged me, but I could never do anything about...He comes out. And he is no longer my friend Justice. He is a force of vengeance. And he has no grasp of mercy."

The two women were silent for a long time. Hawke finally cocked her head. "Is there anyway you can separate the two of you? Not kill him like a demon but maybe...send him back to the Fade? I bet we could find a way, it'd take some thinking outside the normal lines of magic..."

"At this point, I'm just happy the two of you aren't running away."

"Why would we?" Hawke said, baffled.

Bethany shrugged. "I was standing directly in between you and the templars and you didn't harm me."

He hadn't, at that. Anders opened his mouth, then closed it without replying, looking away. He remembered something with a jolt and rose, moving to a chest where he kept some of his personal belongings. The maps were at the bottom, rolled up and tied with twine. He brought them back and handed them to Hawke. "The maps. They're yours." He hesitated for a moment. "...As am I, if you wish me to join your expedition. I thought I was done with the Grey Wardens, but if you have need of me...I will be here." It wasn't just a sense of obligation that drove him to offer. This pair intrigued him...from the sound of it, they had been raised by an apostate...

_they would be strong allies to the cause of mages_

He pushed Justice's thought back.

Bethany looked around. "Well, you might be able to make some money for your clinic. Do you accept donations, by the way? We have some coin, we give some to Lirene all the time and you do equally good things for the refugees. We're from Ferelden too, you know."

Hawke was studying the jars lined on a shelf on the wall that held herbs and poultices. "You're low on elfroot, at any rate. I have some, remind me to bring it next time."

This time, there wasn't any nearly about it, he couldn't stop the bemused smile that curved his lips. What in the Void had he gotten himself into?


	10. Bad Day for Slavers

" _Clay lies still but blood's a rover."_

\- **"Reveille", A.E. Housman**

* * *

"Told you, Blondie," Varric said to Anders, his voice dry. He raised his voice. "And what are we up to, ladies?"

Bethany and Hawke turned from the tunnel entrance outside Anders's clinic, startled.

"Us?" Bethany said at the same time Hawke said, "Nothing."

Anders chuckled. "Oh, I'm convinced."

Varric shook his head. "Laying siege on the Amell estate in broad daylight?"

"We can't do it at night! I promised Markus I'd help him with his Feastday preparations tonight and we have to meet up with Anso the Skittish Nug tomorrow night!" Hawke called.

Varric laughed out loud. That was probably the most apt description of Anso he'd ever heard. He'd only come to the surface to join Bartrand recently and he kept jumping at shadows, saying nervously that he kept expecting to fall into the sky. Yelling at people for sneaking up at him had become his favorite hobby, right under sucking up to Bartrand.

He started toward them, Anders following right behind him. "You weren't going to try and do it alone, were you?"

"You were in meetings."

"I'm right here!" Anders said indignantly, motioning behind him to the clinic.

"You had patients!"

"Isabela?" Varric raised his eyebrows. "She was the one who mentioned you two seemed to be up to something."

"Then you must have seen how hungover she was," Bethany said. "She could barely lift her head."

"Merrill is out of town, I don't know where she went and we can't ask Aveline to break into the estate! That bastard Jeven is just looking for an excuse to nail her," Hawke said before Varric could comment.

"You two are _not_ going alone," Varric said with a rare stern note in his voice.

"Okay, okay, we weren't actually going to try and break in, we just wanted to scope things out," Hawke grumbled.

"Why exactly are you planning to break into the Amell estate? The Amells aren't even in it anymore, right?" Anders asked.

"We need to get our grandfather's will," Bethany explained. "It's supposed to be in the vault."

"Your _grandfather's_?" He had known their mother was from Kirkwall before she ran off with their father, but they had not mentioned that she had been nobility.

"Uncle Gamlen sold the estate to a slaver he lost a dice game to. But there's a chance we could get it back if it never belonged to him. He keeps going on and on about how mad Grandfather was at Mother and how he left her nothing. We just...want to make things easier on her," Bethany said.

"And the slavers won't be this low on men for much longer." Hawke shoved a few planks aside to widen the entrance and ducked inside.

"Hawke, if you get lost down there, you can easily wander without a way out until you starve to death or something eats you." Anders peered in after her, frowning.

"She doesn't _get_ lost," Bethany said, rolling her eyes.

"She doesn't," the dwarf confirmed.

Bethany ducked into the entrance herself. "And they say I'm the magic one. Sometimes I wonder, I really do."

* * *

"Any day now, Hawke." Varric peered through the cellars a bit anxiously. Flares of light pierced the dimness as Anders and Bethany worked in tandem to take down one of the mages working with the slavers. Anders seemed to find this particularly offensive and was happy to express his disapproval by way of lightning bolt.

"You think you can do it faster, then _you_ disarm them." Hawke didn't look up from the trap she was working on.

"Touchy, Hawke. I wasn't questioning your disarming abilities. In fact, you have a liking for traps that's slightly disturbing."

"Especially explosive ones. Boom!" Hawke said cheerfully.

"You scare me, Hawke."

"Just trying to keep you on your toes."

"Sure. Head's up!" The two of them scattered as a large man, his hair and clothing enthusiastically aflame, barreled toward them, screaming and beating at the flames to put them out. Unfortunately, that occupied him so much he didn't watch his step. His boot came down on top of one of the traps Hawke hadn't gotten to yet. There was a low _whump_ that shook the room and a blast of light that sent him somersaulting through the air and landing with a bone crunching thud. Right on top of the other traps. After getting flipped around a bit more, he didn't get up again. Varric cautiously unfolded himself from behind one of the large casks dotting the room, peering around it. It was a good thing it was empty since there were holes all over one side of it now.

Bethany ran up to them and stared at the smoking body for a moment, her face pale. She glanced over at Anders as he joined them.

"I don't think your method of disarming traps is quite as practical," Varric said.

Anders shrugged. "Faster, though."

"I think they're getting more men, Alessa. That mage there," she pointed to the dead man, "was the last of them, and he was wearing a strange uniform," Bethany said.

"Tevinter," Anders said.

"Really?" Alessa stepped out from behind a pillar, her brow furrowed. "There was no new shipment of slaves this week according to those manifests we found." She patted her pack lightly. She'd put the manifests in there, along with other bits of evidence, so she could hand them over to Aveline.

"I've only seen about two of them, so unless the rest are up in the estate itself, I don't think they're a slaving crew." Anders shrugged. "What they're doing here, I don't know. Even with slaving rings, a Tevinter would have to be...cautious moving through the city. They're not exactly welcome in Kirkwall."

"Tevinters aren't exactly welcome _anywhere_ ," Varric pointed out.

"Well, that's what happens when you try and conquer the entire world and get overthrown," said Hawke, moving through the cellar cautiously.

"Someone ought to point that out to the Chantry. And the templars," Anders muttered.

It was rather impressive, Varric and Hawke had come to agree, how Anders could manage to turn every conversation or comment back to that.

"Alessa!" Bethany moved past them, hurrying forward. She gestured excitedly to a heavy door set carefully into a wall, angled so it was half hidden. "This is it!"

She pulled the key from her pocket and fit it in the keyhole, turning it with trembling fingers and pushing the door open when it clicked.

The vault was dark, the light from the doorway only brightening the floor ahead of them a few feet. It was enough she could see a torch on the wall. She lit it with a small lick of flame from her fingertips, slowly lighting the way from torch to torch until the room was illuminated. Rectangular and low ceilinged, it had the musty smell of a room long locked away. A thick layer of dust had built up on the floor, undisturbed. Apparently the slavers hadn't taken note of it or had not been able to get in.

Worn armoires and chests were lined against the walls. Bethany watched as her sister and Varric moved around the room, disarming traps and unlocking everything. She tried to keep an ear out for slavers sneaking up on them, but she was finding it hard to concentrate.

"Do you feel that?" Anders murmured behind her.

She did. It was a buzzing in the back of her head, faint but distracting. "A magic trap in the room?" she asked hesitantly.

"I don't think so..." Anders said, shaking his head.

"The family did have children taken away to the Circle..." That was one of the reasons Mother was so worried about losing her to it.

"No, I've felt magical traps before, this isn't it. I've gotten a buzz like this from artifacts we found in ruins in the Deep Roads, though..."

"Hey, look, Beth!" They both looked over to see Alessa standing with a painting in her hands. There was a smile on her face as she turned it around. Beth stared at the woman in the portrait. It took her a long moment before she recognized her. "That's...is that Mother?"

"I think it's a betrothal portrait." Alessa was smiling softly. "I never realized until now how much you look like her, Beth..."

Bethany hadn't either. She carefully took the portrait, studying her mother's face. She was seated against a plain backdrop in a dark green dress, a rope of pearls around her neck. Her hair was swept into an elegant knot at the back of her head and tied with a gold ribbon. She looked so young and pretty...and, Beth thought, faintly bored. But maybe that was just her. She could imagine Grandmother and Grandfather Amell passing this along to potential suitors, expecting to make a good, solid connection for their family. Without any idea their daughter would turn her back on everything for the love of a Ferelden apostate.

"She's very beautiful. You do look a lot like her," Anders said, looking over her shoulder.

"Oh, she's much more beautiful than I'll ever be," Beth said, setting the portrait carefully down against the wall. She'd take it back along with the will.

"Now that is utter nonsense. If you don't know you are a beautiful woman, Bethany, you haven't been talking to the right people."

Bethany could feel heat rising through her cheeks. She would have dismissed it as flattery except the compliment was so lightly and easily given, there wasn't any doubt he meant it.

"There you go, Beth, if you don't take my word for it," Alessa teased, kneeling beside a small scroll chest.

Bethany was aware she was blushing furiously now and fidgeted, focusing on the chest, trying to ignore Varric's chuckle.

Alessa dug through the scroll chest. She paused as she pulled a small stack of letters out, flipping through them. "Grandfather kept all her letters..." She withdrew a folded piece of paper from within the stack and unfolded it, holding it up to the light. Bethany leaned forward to look at it and gasped softly. It was a drawing of three children...of them. Alessa looked to be three or four years old and was sitting on a blanket, a tiny arm around each of the twins on either side of her, all three peering solemnly up at the artist. "I...remember posing for this. I think it was a street artist in Denerim that did it." She handed the letters and drawing to Bethany and started shifting through the chest again. She finally leaned back with a scroll in her hand, breaking the seal and unrolling it. "Here we go."

Bethany peered over her shoulder anxiously as Alessa scanned the will. "Did Grandfather leave Mother anything?"

"He left her...everything." Alessa sounded stunned.

"My, my, Gamlen," Varric said sardonically.

" _He_ was left a stipend to be controlled by Mother," Alessa said.

"He forgave her," Bethany said quietly, cradling the letters Mother had sent her parents over the years. "They didn't die angry at her. Oh, Alessa, this is going to make her so happy."

"And she has something to toss in Gamlen's face the next time he uses their parents to take a shot at her." Alessa's voice was mild, but Bethany heard the anger vibrating beneath it.

"Your uncle sounds like a real gem," Anders said, his voice dry.

"Oh, Blondie, you have no idea," Varric said.

"We should get that back to Mother...right away..." Bethany lost her train of thought as she straightened again, because that thrum at the back of her head was even more intense now. A strange, mana touched shiver of energy that sang along her bones. She turned her head on instinct, her eyes coming to rest on a newer looking armoire than the rest, pushed into a corner.

"Beth?"

She barely heard her sister's voice, moving slowly toward the armoire. Every step made that hum beneath her skin grow to the point it was almost uncomfortable.

"Bethany, be careful." Anders sounded alarmed, but that too, was merely in the background. She opened the door, staring at the long shape wrapped in black cloth leaning at an angle in the armoire. A rope bound with an odd looking seal was wrapped around it.

"Beth!" Alessa came up beside her as she reached for it, reaching out to stop her. She recoiled when her hand came near the wrapped object, clutching her hand to her chest with a gasp. Bethany felt the opposite, like something was pulling her toward it. The seal on the ropes glowed as her hand came near, then fell off, the rope dropping from it with a faint hiss.

Bethany picked it up and pulled the cloth off, revealing a staff. The length of it was polished but unsanded wood, allowing the natural knots and bumps of the branch to show. The top flared to resemble roots that wrapped around a blood red stone larger than her fist. Instead of holding a point, the wood at the base of it transitioned seamlessly into a blade.

"Maker's breath," Alessa murmured, sounding awed. "Is that...?"

"Parthalan's staff." Bethany heard the wonder in her own voice as she studied the object she had only seen in drawings and from her father's stories. It fit into her hands like it had been crafted for her alone.

"Father never told us he actually had it." Alessa knelt, digging through the rest of the armoire's contents. "Grandfather kept all of this...this all belonged to him..."

"Wasn't Parthalan a famous magister?" Anders came up beside Bethany, studying the staff with fascination, though he was careful not to get close to it.

"He broke away from the Imperium. That's what Father said, anyway. He was one of the people that helped King Calenhad unite Ferelden but he ended up fleeing the Chantry. Father told us...he's always told us we were descended from him."

"I'd say this pretty much confirms that."

"I suppose so..." Bethany wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Obviously there was some kind of magic in the staff that kept it from being wielded by just anyone, and the only way she knew to do that was by bloodline. She found it ironic that the staff would choose her when she had always wondered what it would like to be normal...no magic, no spells, nothing...and she wasn't entirely sure she liked that it had chosen her.

She turned back to the armoire. Alessa was still kneeling, chattering excitedly to Varric, either unaware or not caring that he was taking notes the whole time. "...ended up having to flee Kirkwall, but he didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to Mother. So he snuck into this masked ball they were throwing for the Empress to see her." She held up a silk mask and a fine looking silk shirt of Orlesian make. "That was the night they ran away together." She tucked the clothes back into the bag and set them aside.

"Hey, Hawke, look at _that_." Varric pointed to something that had dropped out of the bag and now rested on the floor of the armoire.

Alessa picked it up, studying it. At first, Bethany couldn't make out what it was supposed to be. It looked like some sort of claw. Her sister slipped it onto her middle finger and held her hand up. It was a ring of metal and leather that fit over her finger to the middle knuckle. A delicate metal claw extended from the end of it.

"Looks good on you," Varric said, raising an eyebrow. "Think that was your father's too?"

"I guess it had to have been, why else would it be here?" Alessa studied it thoughtfully. Bethany eyed the ring and noted that Anders was frowning a bit. He'd obviously picked up on the faint touch of magic from that ring. It had to be enchanted but Beth couldn't tell what it was or why it made her uneasy. She dismissed it as having too much happen all too fast.

"Well," Varric stretched as Alessa stood up. "All and all, I'd say this was a successful trip. I don't suppose you two would let me watch when you show the will to your mother? I bet the look on Gamlen's face alone will be priceless."

* * *

The intricacies of power and status were a subject of interest for Fenris. Not that he particularly craved either. The only person he wanted rule over was himself.

But as Danarius's most prized slave- a lyrium marked experiment, no less -Fenris had stood on the outside of even the normal circle of slaves that ran through the Imperium. Standing at Danarius's back where ever he went had given him a chance to observe things most of his kind rarely did. On the surface, the Tevinter Imperium was a relatively simple place. The Archon ruled the Senate of Magisters, the Black Divine ruled the Circle of Magi and the Imperial Chantry, and everyone else danced to please them.

But beneath all of it, that dance was endlessly intricate. The Archon, the Senate, and the Divine struggled to keep more power for themselves, the levels of power within the Senate changed from person to person as the magisters struggled to gain more. Students learning under the magisters vied for their master's favor and the ability to learn more, gaining an advantage over their fellows. Among the servants, you either fought not to be noticed (depending on the wonts and appetites of the magister), just underfoot, or you fought to gain some semblance of power in a life that gave you little.

And then their were slaves. The underlying structure of the entire Imperium, though saying so out loud would earn at best a beating and at worst a slow death. Tevinter would completely fall apart without slaves but that didn't mean they had to acknowledge that dependence. The dance for power wasn't as in depth among them because there was no real power to be gained. A slave was a slave, ultimately replaceable no matter how much interest a high ranking servant or even a magister showed in them. The only exception to this that Fenris knew about was himself, and that wasn't because he himself was valuable, it was the fortune of lyrium he literally carried on his person.

As he had moved throughout Thedas, he had seen a less structured, but similar, dance of power throughout the cities and towns. Oh, not the life and death dance in the Imperium...a baron with less land than another baron had only the passing chance of dying because he had less power...but the basic pattern was the same. The people in power struggled amongst themselves and the ones beneath them followed suit. And his own people tried to close themselves off and be their own city within the cities.

Kirkwall had a particularly complicated struggle for such a small space (when you compared it to places like Val Royeaux and Antiva City), and it echoed throughout the Free Marches. Over the past weeks, Fenris had slowly picked out the strands of this web of power piece by piece with no small fascination. On one level you had the templars and the Circle of Magi, the Chantry and the noble houses, all in Hightown. But the real struggle came from the people that worked out of the shadows, that helped finance those nobles, smuggle lyrium not under control of the Chantry to the templars to feed their addiction, that smuggled objects and money to the Circle mages. The Merchant's Guild, the Coterie, the dozens of gangs within the city and the pirates and smugglers on the ships moving in and out of it, all moving beneath the surface of the city like black blood beneath pure skin.

"How much longer do 'e hafta stay out here?"

Although judging from the two Coterie members beneath him, that particular branch of criminals seemed to favor quantity over quality.

Crouched on the roof of one of the Alienage houses, Fenris grimaced at the grating tone of the voice in the alley beneath him. He heard a muffled thump as the second half of the pair gave his whining companion a whack. "As long as it takes."

"'E ain't comin'." Now the whiner sounded anxious, which didn't improve his vocal quality. "Wot'dya think them Tevinters'r gonna do to us if'n 'e don't show up?"

"Best not to think about that," the other voice replied.

Fenris frowned, lifting his eyes to scan the area. The Alienage plaza was utterly deserted. The residents had a knack for knowing when trouble was happening and were all holed up. He saw no one coming to the gates. Had Anso failed him?

"Buggerin' crazy elves," the whiner muttered for no particular reason.

"Shut up." His companion gave him another whack. "Listen."

Fenris lifted his head, also alerted to the sound of voices at the gate. A female voice said something he couldn't make out over the creak of the gate as it opened, but he heard a male voice answer: "I think I hate you when you're in a good mood, Hawke."

"That's Varric Tethras, wot in blazes is _'e_ doin' 'ere?"

Three pairs of eyes followed the group that crossed the plaza. A dwarf...Varric, he presumed...and two human women. The smaller of the two women danced ahead of the others, twirling a dagger in one hand with alarming skill. "You need to be more spontaneous, Varric."

" _You're_ lecturing _me_ about being spontaneous? Oh, hello, Irony, so glad you could come walking with us!"

"That's that weird eyed niece of Gamlen's. Interfering little do-gooder _bitch_ ," the second man spat, his voice filled with venom.

"They're goin' into the 'ouse, they're goin' into the 'ouse!" The whiner was definitely panicking now. "We gotta warn the boys in there!"

Fenris took that as his cue and rose, rolling his head to get the crick out of his neck, and moved silently to a point where he could jump down into the alley below.

"Forget the boys for now; she won't kill them. We have to get to the Tevinters and tell them something is wrong."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that." Both men spun around in surprise as Fenris spoke. He was already bringing his sword up in a swift, hard blow that caught the non-whiner half of the pair through the chest. He gurgled, staring at Fenris with wide-eyed shock, the life fading from his eyes. The whiner let out a thin squeal and tried to run. Fenris jerked his sword free and rushed after him. Light flared along the lines on his body and he drove his fist into the man's back before he could make it into the open, solidifying his fist partially and dragging the thug back into the darkness before he pulled free, his fist gloved in blood up to the wrist. The man slumped down to join his companion in death on the ground.

Fenris moved cautiously to the mouth of the alley, peering out into the plaza, careful not to be seen. The slavers were already moving out into the plaza. Tevinter maroon, just like Theta had told him. They must have come in separate ships, though, because there were a lot more than she had counted. Twice as many, in fact. The elf frowned, wondering how to handle this new development, when the captain of the group solved the problem for him by splitting the group up. He left one mage and one lieutenant with the bulk of their people around the house to spring the trap and took the rest up the stairs toward the gate.

Fenris waited for the captain and his half to get out of sight, studying the group forming a semi-circle around the house. For a brief moment, not for the first time, he wondered what important thing they had put hidden in there to try and lure him out. He pushed the thought away for now. Perhaps Anso's mercenaries could tell him later, once they'd taken the slaver group out. For the moment, he needed to make sure there wasn't a second one waiting for them.

* * *

Hawke dearly wished that she was surprised to come out of the house and find herself face to face with a group of armed and armored thugs.

There had been something off from the moment they'd entered the Alienage. She generally came to visit Merrill when the night set in- she was an intruder in their domain night or day, but at least at night she wasn't so disruptive since most of them had retired -and she had never seen it so dead. Then they had passed explosive traps and a group of thugs guarding the chest. The _empty_ chest. "Um...Varric? Armed thugs, empty chest, deserted Alienage, boarded up windows and no way out except the front door..."

"All and all, the perfect place for a trap. I know, I know. I'm going to have a long talk with Anso." Varric shook his head in disgust. "I should have known he was lying when he started hinting about templar clients. That twitchy nug licker doesn't have the balls to handle lyrium smuggling."

"Do you think he set us up?"

"If he did, it was someone else's idea."

"Why do these things always happen to us?" Bethany muttered.

"I say we blame your sister, Sunshine."

"Fine by me."

"Hey!" Hawke turned to scowl at both of them from the doorway, then passed through it, standing in the main room of the house and narrowing her eyes at the front door. Her hands were resting on the hilts of her daggers. After a few moments of tense silence with all three of them listening intently, Hawke sighed. "I guess if it is a trap, they're not going to be nice and come through the doorway where we can pick them off."

"Thugs are so inconsiderate." Varric pulled Bianca out and loaded her with a click. "Well, it's either go out and see if we have a party waiting for us, or hang around here all night."

Now, Hawke scanned the maroon garbed miniature army in front of her and decided this wasn't her kind of party. She fingered the bottle she held hidden behind her back, pressing her fingers to the cork at the top.

A woman stalked forward, the only one not wearing a strange helmet with a mask like faceplate. She glared at them, furious and arrogant, speaking with a sharp accent Hawke couldn't place. "That's not the elf. Who is that?"

Hawke blinked. _Huh?_

One of the masked soldiers pulled his sword. "It doesn't matter. We were told to kill whoever entered the house."

Hawke twisted the cork on the bottle until she felt the pressure from within making the top vibrate against her fingers, then threw it hard as they advanced. It hit the ground and shattered, spewing a cloud of noxious gas into the air.

_Kill whoever entered the house._

Varric brought Bianca up, firing into the smoke even as it started to clear. It left the soldiers who had breathed it in stumbling and disoriented. Bethany had tracked and focused on a mage in their midst, getting the jump on him.

" _If it's family, you protect. Doesn't matter if it's blood or not."_

She had gone to speak to Aveline today, and her words haunted her.

" _It's good that you would rather heal than harm. It should never be easy to kill, Hawke. Never be your first choice."_

They'd left the thugs in the house unconscious. But this lot...kill whoever entered the house. That's what he'd said, that's what they were trying to do.

When the leader raised her sword and moved to flank Varric, Hawke came up behind her.

" _Killing leaves a scar on you that never goes away. But whenever I go into a fight, it becomes a matter of protecting what matters with everything I have. Everything, Hawke. If protecting someone depending on me means taking that scar on my soul, I do it. You have to ask yourself if avoiding those scars is worth putting those you care about at risk." Aveline had taken her hand then, understanding in her eyes. "You've taken a lot on your shoulders...sometimes I forget how young you are, Hawke."_

As the woman raised the sword to bring it down and Varric started to turn toward her a moment too late, Hawke drove the point of her dagger into her back, twisting the curved blade hard. The woman made a choked sound and dropped.

She was so cold inside, her stomach in knots, but not as cold as she became when she thought of Varric or Bethany dead.

Varric met Hawke's eyes briefly before she turned away, throwing another smoke bomb down, this one simply to obscure vision. She heard Bethany cry out in pain behind her and battled her way to her sister's side, using the smoke to her advantage, vanishing in and out of it, noting Varric making his way to the enemy mage's other side. Bethany was struggling, holding the other mage's staff with the split blade of Parthalan's staff, keeping him from using it against her. He would have to drop it in order to cast a spell. Varric fired, catching him in the shoulder, making him cry out in pain and wrench free, stumbling away from Bethany. Before he could straighten up to cast a spell, Hawke kicked him viciously in his lower back, making him stumble again right in time for Varric to nail him with a deadly shot. At point blank range like that, Bianca easily sent a bolt through his helmet and into his head.

The three of them stood, panting, looking around at the bodies scattered around the plaza with more questions than answers.

Hawke wiped her blades off on a dead man's uniform, trying not to think for the moment. Later on. Once everyone was out of danger.

"We'd better clear out before the guards get here," Varric said.

"Luckily, I think they'll be more wondering what a group of Tevinter militia are doing in Kirkwall than who killed them," Hawke said. "I think we figured out where those Tevinters in the estate came from."

Varric started to reply as they came to the steps and stopped, whipping Bianca up.

"I don't know who you are, friend, but you made a serious mistake coming here." Hawke looked up at the angry looking man dressed in a heavier version of the Tevinters' armor and groaned inwardly. She couldn't help but agree.

"Lieutenant, I want everyone in the clearing. Now!" the man roared. Damn, damn, damn. Hawke looked around, trying to figure out if there was another way out. If they could get to one of the alleys and up onto the rooftops...

She realized at the same time the man did that there was a rather loud silence where there should have been footsteps and clanking metal. It was pierced by a sudden groan as a lone soldier stumbled around the bend of the stairway. "Captain..." He collapsed in a puddle of blood.

A voice came from beyond the body, low and rich with the same touch of an accent as their attackers. "Your men are dead. And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you still can."

Hawke's gaze tracked up to the lithe figure stepping over the body, moving slowly down the stairs with predatory grace, and everything just seemed to...scatter...throughout her head for a few moments. Her first clear thought was: wow. She actually had to shake herself a little to get herself back on track. Which was just _embarrassing_. Maker's breath, she was _not_ some empty headed female who went into vapors at the sight of a fine looking...very, very, _very_ fine looking...man.

The newcomer was a silver haired elf with a blade that looked heavier than he was strapped to his back. Tattoos formed intricate lines over his face and arms and she idly wondered where he'd found silver ink. She'd never seen anything like it. He didn't need the sword, armor, or the spiked gauntlets that sheathed his hands to show he was dangerous; that was abundantly clear by the way he moved alone. He might not look strong enough to swing that two-handed sword, but Hawke didn't doubt that he could. And well. The body on the ground behind him and the pile of them that was no doubt out of sight was testament to it.

He kept his eyes on hers as he moved down the stairs, not even glancing at the captain, which Hawke silently applauded because it obviously pissed the creep off a whole lot. The captain's lips twisted into a sneer and he lashed out, grabbing the elf's shoulder. "You're going nowhere, _slave_."

The elf whipped around so fast he was a blur. To Hawke's astonishment, the tattoos on his arms and face started to glow, flaring with a bluish light. He drew a fist back and smashed it into the captain's chest, passing through the armor like it was paper and into the flesh beneath. Hawke watched with appalled fascination as the man gagged, mouth opening and closing like a fish's. The elf had actually passed his hand _right through his body_. He pulled it out with a spray of blood and turned to face them, the rage in his eyes giving lie to the calm expression on his face and the cool tone of his voice. "I am _not_ a slave."

* * *

The chest in the house had been empty, which had been a disappointment, but one he could live with.

But Danarius had fled, and that was a harder disappointment. For a brief period, true freedom had seemed to be in his grasp. At first Hawke had seemed angry at the deception, then cautiously understanding, enough she had agreed to help him, though she had seemed genuinely confused that he'd felt the need to resort to deception to get help, which seemed hopelessly naive to Fenris. The dwarf, Varric, had followed suit, cheerfully saying he was always ready to beat slavers out of his town. The other woman had said nothing, but followed along.

He'd been glad for the help, for Danarius's mansion was full of magical beasts he would have found hard to get through alone. But he had been denied his hoped for confrontation with his former master. Danarius had fled like the coward he had always been. How he had known, Fenris had no idea, but he had been so _close_...

Fenris leaned against the wall outside the magister's manor and closed his eyes, biting back a growl of frustration. The hunters were dead, and he'd made Danarius flee, so it wasn't a complete waste of time and effort. Perhaps he'd given Danarius something to think over. Certainly, his pride and confidence had to have taken a beating over the past three years and even more of one this night. With that in mind, he decided he wouldn't move on for the moment. Danarius wasn't going to be needing this mansion, after all...

Voices coming from the entry way of the manor drew his attention and he watched the group out of the corner of his eye.

Varric came out first, taking a drink of what looked like a healing potion. "There. Now, quit nagging, Hawke, it isn't ladylike."

"Nasty demons have nasty stuff on their nasty claws," Hawke retorted, she paused on the walkway. The arcane horror Danarius had set to guard the upper rooms of the mansion had thrown her clear across a room and sent her crashing into a wall. There was a nasty bruise spreading along the right side of her face. "And I don't nag."

The other woman snorted as she capped the salve she'd been smoothing Hawke's face, stepping back. Hawke caught sight of him and turned toward him, rubbing lightly at her cheek. Before he could speak, she moved forward a few steps, looking him up and down. "Are you hurt?"

The sharp concern in her voice caught him by surprise. "No."

Hawke studied him out of narrow eyes. "Are you sure? Did you check?"

Those eyes caught him every time they met his own. It wasn't just the two different colors, it was the sharp intelligence and quizzical interest in them whenever she looked at him, like she was trying to figure him out. With a jolt, he realized why she had seemed faintly familiar. The way she moved, her voice...he was certain she was the one those idiots had been chasing on the docks the night he'd come here. How strange their paths had crossed again in such a manner.

Fenris realized he'd been meeting her gaze without speaking for a few moments and pulled his thoughts back on track, unnerved. "I'm fine." He looked away from her, his gaze coming to rest on the other woman. Bethany.

The mage.

He seemed unable to escape them. _What are you doing running around with an apostate, Hawke?_ He spoke softly, his eyes not leaving her: "It never ends. I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul. And now I find myself in the company of even more mages."

Bethany turned her head at that to find his gaze burning into hers. She flinched a bit, but spoke in an icy voice, "You can speak to me directly."

"I saw you casting spells inside. I should have realized sooner what you really were." Fenris pushed away from the wall, moving toward them. Hawke shifted, drawing his gaze to her momentarily. Her face was expressionless, but she angled her body ever so slightly toward Bethany, putting herself slightly in front of her. The move was so swift and smooth, Fenris wondered if she even realized she had done it. He had the impression of a mother bear...albeit a very small one...moving to protect her cub. He spoke to her now. "You harbor a viper in your midst. It will turn on you and strike when you least expect it. That is in its nature."

Hawke scoffed. "She's my little sister. If she hasn't used magic to take me out by now, she never will."

"Especially after the beetle incident," Bethany muttered.

Hawke glanced over at her, "I _said_ I was sorry for that! I caught them all, didn't I?"

_She's my little sister_. Words so lightly said, but so clear a warning. It explained the instinctive move to protect the mage. Those words, the suddenly fierce look in those eyes of hers... He wondered suddenly how long Hawke had been doing it. It was perhaps a mixture of that and being so close to getting at the man who had stolen his memories from him that made him wonder if he had once had a sibling to protect like that. Or a mother that had protected him. He couldn't have said why he was relatively certain the answer was yes, but it perhaps made him soften just a bit. "I'm not blind. I know magic has its uses, and there are undoubtedly mages with good intentions. But even the best intentioned mage can fall prey to temptation, and then their power is a curse to inflict upon others."

"No one is stopping you from moving on, you know," Bethany said in a snippy tone. Even saying so, she was the one that moved along, tossing her head and stalking away. Varric exchanged a glance with Hawke and followed her. Fenris heard him say something that made Bethany let out a surprised laugh that echoed in the morning air.

Hawke remained in front of him, peering up at him- he was almost a head taller than she -with that strange, quizzical expression again. This was the first time anyone had given him help enough and he acknowledged he was doing a poor job of making them want to do so again. "I imagine I seem ungrateful," he said softly. "If so, I apologize. Nothing can be further from the truth."

"I imagine you're someone who had a powerful mage do something reprehensible to him," she replied, her voice equally quiet.

"He's a magister." Fenris shrugged, not expecting her to understand. "They hold all the power. Over the Chantry, over the Imperial Court, over life itself. It's nothing for one to own a slave. Danarius had many, though none he valued so much as me." He made a slight gesture to indicate his markings. "These are lyrium."

Hawke's eyes widened. "I'd wondered, but..."

Fenris nodded as she obviously realized the only way lyrium could have gotten into his body. "Burned into my flesh to provide the power he required of his pet. He doesn't want me at all, you see. He just wants his precious investment returned, even if he must rip it from my corpse."

Hawke looked ill. "How did he...?" She checked herself, wincing. "That's probably not something you want to talk about, sorry."

"It's all right. I don't remember anything about the ritual that placed them. It was Danarius's choice. One he now regrets."

"Well, that will teach him to go around burning lyrium into people," Hawke said tartly. "I'm sorry we didn't catch up with him." She didn't sound sorry as much as angry, Fenris thought with bemusement. In fact she looked like if Danarius were there at the moment, Fenris would have had to pull her off the magister before he could kill him.

Reminded he still owed her a debt, Fenris tried to give her what coin he had left but Hawke demurred, showing him a bag of gems she'd found in Danarius's rooms, which more than covered what Anso had promised, in her opinion. "You can't walk around Kirkwall with no coin, that's not practical at all. Besides, it's likely the group hunting you was providing business for the slavers operating out of my family's old home. This will be a blow to them, which alone is worth it," she said, sounding pleased.

The idea more slavers might have suffered from this night was another sign it hadn't been a complete loss. He disagreed that his debt to them had been paid off, however. "Should you ever find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it."

Hawke smiled at him then. A quick twist of the lips as bright and swift as lightning that lit her face and eyes for a moment before it faded just as fast. It gave him a strange jolt and made him notice for the first time that she was truly beautiful. "We're planning an expedition into the Deep Roads your skills would certainly be welcome in. But only if you want to."

Only if he wanted to. Hawke couldn't have had any comprehension how much that simple phrase meant to Fenris. Only if _he_ wanted to. The hunters were driven off, Danarius would be cautious for a while, he might actually have a chance to understand what it meant to truly be free, if only for a while. The idea was terrifying...exhilarating...

He didn't show it outwardly, simply nodding. "Fair enough. Should you have need of me, I will be here." He nodded to the mansion, taking vicious pleasure in the thought of claiming something that had once belonged to Danarius, thinking of how enraged the magister would be at the thought. "If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he's free to return and claim it."


	11. Interlude: Sil's Memories

**\- Excerpt from the personal memoirs of Silandry Marath**

_Of course, I knew she'd been taught to speak Dwarven, but didn't know what Hawke was capable of...intellectually at least...during those days. She was paranoid about hiding it, and it wasn't until Bethany spoke up much later that we had a clue why._

_No, I didn't even get a real hint about the mind behind those mismatched eyes until my husband arrived with Zek in Kirkwall._

_I've always found it amusing that the fact no one- from the University to the Chantry -would help Haze on any official level came back to bite them all in the ass later. Oh, he had affiliations with the University, but at that time, you have to remember, only humans with the right bloodlines...and money...could teach and study there. He was there with the blessing and backing of several patrons on a personal level, but officially, the University had nothing to do with Haze._

_They wanted to get rid of them, you see. The University wanted to get rid of Haze, the Circle wanted to get rid of Zek, and the Order wanted to get rid of Royce. They wanted them out of sight and out of mind. They weren't officially exiled to Kirkwall, but Haze was encouraged to set up some kind of learning institution in Kirkwall as a diplomatic gesture and Zek came with him. Since Zek was a mage, he couldn't very well go with just a dwarf to guard him, so they sent Royce along. Nice pairing, that. The inappropriately outspoken templar and the mouthiest elf you'll ever meet. Killed three birds with one stone and by the time they wanted all three back under control, it was way too late. And yes, I still laugh at them for it._

_So they arrived in Kirkwall with a little bit of money and an old building in Lowtown. It was a rather discouraging beginning, but that's how some of the best beginnings are._

_I'd just come back from Llomerryn to help him set up. At the time, I was the only one who thought having no official backing for the place was a good thing. I was especially glad the Chantry wanted nothing to do with it. They had bigger fish to fry in Kirkwall than two Orlesian scholars trying to make a library. The more the Chantry stays out of things, the better off everyone is, in my opinion. I've spent too much time around the ruins of past religions to give much credence to the ones of today. Religion is as transient as everything else, no matter how much they try to tell you otherwise._

_At any rate, Alessa knocked us all for a loop that day. Haze and Zek were sitting out in front of the building, arguing (again), as we unpacked. Haze made the mistake of allowing Priam Delcor to write up the plans for converting the building and making shelves and such, all of which we had agreed to do on our own. You're not going to stop a dwarf with a little hard work. Unless said dwarf is a Paragon, I guess._

_At any rate, Priam, while a great administrator and dean, also has a rather odd sense of humor. And I think he might have been slightly bored. It's a good job, Dean of Students at an infamous university, but not quite the same as being out in the field. At any rate, Priam had written the plans up as drawings with the numbers set out in a cryptogram that had my husband tearing his beard out. In Priam's defense, I don't think he was expecting that. He was most likely expecting them to be amused and solve it easily but he got a little too complex with the numbers._

_All in all, it wasn't the best moment for Alessa to first be introduced to them. She came wandering up to us, drawn, no doubt, by the wagon with the University's crest on the side. Which Zek had stolen, by the way._

_Haze and Zek had momentarily given up on the plans and were unloading with Royce's help. Zek was lambasting Haze for letting Priam make a fool of him like that and Haze was just shooting insults back at him because, frankly, he was right, and that only pissed my husband off further._

_I made some terse introductions everyone ignored and told Alessa they were looking to establish a library, which she got very excited about._

_Any other day, that would have been fine, but I still thought she was just a pest back then, looking to get herself killed on that damned Deep Roads Expedition. I remember saying something along the lines of Kirkwallers not seeming to value education that wasn't Chantry written._

" _I'm not native to Kirkwall," she reminded me. She was standing just out of my sight, and I was too preoccupied to notice what she was doing. "I'm from Ferelden."_

_That got snorts all around. "Like Fereldens value it any more."_

" _Unless it's improving hound breeding, I suppose." Zek actually sounded thoughtful, not meaning that as an insult._

" _That doesn't take much intellectual prowess, the training and breeding programs for mabari have been passed down through generations," she said._

" _Now that I didn't know. Makes sense," Zek said thoughtfully._

" _You should make sure to come around during Feastday tomorrow. This will be my second one, so I can assure you, it's a lot of free food and drink. Good free food and drink."_

" _Yes, yes, we were planning to. I don't mean to be rude, Hawke, but we're very busy. This is university business," I said, more to move her along before she offered to help and got underfoot._

_She just nodded and fell silent though she watched us for a little while longer. Or so we thought._

_It wasn't until later that Haze stalked over to the plans. I saw him stop short, staring at them. It was dark then, so he brought them over to the lamp, looking shocked._

_It took the rest of us a moment to look around and notice what he was doing. Zek asked him what was wrong and Haze handed the plans over to me._

_Every damn cryptogram on those plans had been solved and the answers written out._


	12. Feastday

_Life is like dancing. If we have a big floor, many people will dance. Some will get angry when the rhythm changes. But life is changing all the time._

**\- Miguel Angel Ruiz**

* * *

"Ah, Feastday. I tell you, Daisy, nothing beats a good party."

"It certainly makes everything smell better!" Merrill, having discovered the wonder of cookies, was understandably distracted. She had a handful and was trying to sample each kind all at once. It was nice to see her so animated again, she'd been keeping to herself lately, her demeanor strangely furtive. Varric made it a point to grab hold of her tunic and guide her back close whenever she started to wander off. It was a grand party for pickpockets too.

Varric chuckled. "Come on, Daisy, Hawke is camped out up near the Hanged Man." He smiled as he looked around. Stalls and makeshift tables had been set up everywhere, streamers and decorations hung off balconies and windows. There was no set colors or type of decoration for Feastday in Kirkwall, at least not in Lowtown. They tried to make things as bright, loud and raunchy as was possible, which wasn't hard at all considering the amount of free liquor being poured everywhere. It drew everyone from Darktown up into the light and nobles from Hightown down, one of the few times they could go slumming without worry of it getting around. Even elves from the Alienage came out. And dwarves. He didn't see any of the Qunari, but they didn't seem like a people who knew a good party when they saw one. Although Theta was definitely here somewhere, so maybe she could stand as an offhand representative.

The success of every Feastday in Lowtown was judged by how many nobles in Hightown ended up bitching about the noise.

Markus Tabir was a fixture in Lowtown, owning a small café not far from the Hanged Man that served cheap but good food. He was never going to get a high class of clientele, but he was never going to want for business either. Hawke sometimes did some work for him in the kitchens during busy months. He'd poked fun at her for it a couple times, which made her declare with mock indignation that she _could_ actually do legitimate work once in a while.

He heard Isabela's loud, ringing laugh even over the crowd and the music before he saw her standing with Hawke. Hawke was in the stall Markus had set up in front of his café, her hair pulled back away from her face. She was standing over a long, flat sheet of iron set on two stone blocks that held it over the fire, using a wooden paddle to keep the mix of shrimp, meat, potatoes and vegetables cooking evenly. Even better, she was tending to a smaller fire with a shallow pan over it for one of Markus's most famous recipes. Isabela was leaning against one of the stall's support beams, a bottle in her hand, grinning down at one of Markus's waitresses, Nelly, who was busily passing out plates of food as people wandered up. She was also blushing and giggling, glancing at Isabela, then away.

"So, of course, when you're up on the shrouds, you have to have a good grip. A _really_ good grip. I mean, the wind is already making the netting rock back and forth as it is..." Isabela was interrupted by Merrill's call as she pushed her way through the crowd up to the stall. She tipped her bottle at them both and Hawke looked up, grinning.

She handed the dwarf a mug as he came up. "See what you think of that. Theta made a _lot_ , so everyone needs to drink up." She motioned to where the horned woman was standing studiously over a huge cauldron, stirring the contents while chatting easily with people coming up to dip mugs and glasses in.

Varric took a swig and nodded in satisfaction. Mulled wine, with enough spirits to make it sharp, underscored with the right amount of spices. Theta was truly an artist.

"Good, huh?" Knowing full well what he'd come up for, Hawke turned to the other pan, adding a scoop of butter to it. It sizzled and she rolled a few slices of apple in a mix of sugar and spices before dropping them into the pan, using a fork to flip each one quickly. She deposited the slices on a piece of paper and handed it over to him. "There were a couple of Orlesian merchants bitching about how people prefer his recipes over the fancy candied apples they're so proud of."

"Aw, now I'll feel all guilty about eating this." Varric bit into half of one apple slice without a hint of guilt. He grinned as Merrill broke away from listening to Isabela, leaning over the cooking slab far enough Hawke gently pushed her back before she burned herself. She made a handful of apple slices for Merrill, laughing at the Dalish woman's obvious delight as she sampled them while trying to hold on to her remaining cookies.

"Oh, what's that?" Merrill licked crumbled sugar and cinnamon off her fingers and eyed the mug in Varric's hand.

He shook his head. "Daisy, I think the sugar is quite enough for you without adding wine on top of it."

"Wine? Oh, you're probably right. The last time I tried it, it made me dizzy."

"The last time you tried it?" Hawke sounded alarmed. Merrill wandering around on her own was alarming enough. Tipsy Merrill wandering around was just begging for disaster.

"I hadn't realized she never tried it before," Isabela said, taking a swig from her bottle. No mulled wine for the pirate woman, she'd cajoled or filched a bottle of fancy rum from someone. "Walking her home was an adventure."

"They really need to fix those cobble stones around the Alienage..." Merrill was blushing. "Anyone can trip over them."

"Especially tipsy elves." Isabela gave her a wicked grin.

"Tipsy? Well, I was tipping over lots of things..."

"Did she trip you, Isabela? Is that how you got that bruise on your hip? It wasn't in the shape of fingers, so I was wondering." Hawke smiled sweetly.

Isabela smiled back just as sweetly. "Figures that's where you would be looking, Hawke."

Varric snickered. Nelly fumbled with the plate she was holding, gasping in shock and then falling into another fit of giggles. Merrill just looked curious.

"Serves you right for getting her drunk in the first place."

"Oh, trust me, Hawke, when I'm bound and determined to get someone drunk, I don't walk them home, I walk them straight into my...well, _hello_..." Isabela's voice turned into a throaty purr.

Varric turned to follow her gaze and cocked an eyebrow as he saw Fenris moving through the crowd. It was actually rather easy for him since people tended to get out of his way, especially since he was dressed in that spiky armor and had his sword on him. The elf seemed on edge, his eyes sweeping left and right suspiciously and his posture slightly hunched, like he was ready to draw that sword any time. Varric tried to remember if he'd seen Fenris out in daylight before. If so, it was only once or twice. He wondered if it was all the noise that had drawn him out now.

"Is that the one that can tear people's hearts out, Varric?" Merrill whispered, looking rather intimidated.

"He can tear out mine any day..." Isabela said with predatory delight.

Fenris caught sight of them and paused, hesitating for a moment before he moved toward them, like he was surprised to see them. Or maybe it was the fact Isabela was eyeing him like he was a sweetmeat. Varric tipped his mug toward him. "Afternoon, elf." Hawke waved, beaming at him.

" _Shanedan_ , Fenris." Theta's voice came from behind them. The kossith woman had joined Hawke behind the stall. "I hear what was left of those Tevinter slavers that came swaggering in a few weeks ago scurried back to Minrathous with their tails between their legs. None of you would know anything about that, would you?" She offered him a mug as he came up and he accepted it, a faint but genuinely warm smile touching his mouth. So he could smile, good to see it, Varric thought with amusement.

"So this is the newest addition to our merry little band?" Isabela sidled closer.

"If you want to call it that. Isabela, Merrill, this is Fenris. Fenris, that's Isabela and that's Merrill." Varric said, motioning with his mug. Isabela grinned at him and Merrill gave a shy wave with one of her cookies, shifting closer to Hawke. Fenris merely nodded, appearing uncomfortable from the attention. He waved away any of the shrimp but showed interest in the apples when Hawke handed some to Theta, so she flash fried a paper of them for him.

"What exactly is this celebration? I can hear the noise all the way up in Hightown," Fenris asked.

"Feastday in Kirkwall. It's a day when everyone pretends to be generous and good to their fellow man. It's fun while it lasts," Varric said.

"I think the general idea is if they give away free food, entertainment, and drink for one day, it makes up for everyone being greedy bastards for the rest of the year," Isabela added. In true Isabela fashion, she was leaning entirely too close to Fenris, though the elf's only real reaction was to raise an eyebrow at her slightly, looking bemused.

"I guess if you heard them up in Hightown, that means the celebration is a success already." Hawke chuckled, turning to greet a pair of elf sisters that had worked with her on Athenril's crew delightedly.

"You'll be hearing the nobles complaining about the noise for weeks," Theta said to Fenris.

"Only the nobility are allowed to be annoying, don't you know." Varric held finished off his wine and Theta extended a hand for the mug, refilling it from the cauldron.

"From what I've seen, they're better at it." Fenris looked grimly amused.

Isabela was studying him again. Or, more specifically, she was eying the greatsword strapped to his back. Varric could practically see her winding up for a 'big sword' comment and shifted the subject before she could fire it off, looking at Hawke. "Your sister doesn't have cooking duty today?"

Hawke grimaced. "She has 'helping Mother keep Gamlen out of trouble' duty."

Varric winced. "Poor Sunshine." Ever since they had found the will and Leandra had started taking steps to try and petition the Viscount to regain the Amell estate (he made a note to see if the rumors he'd been encouraging about the slavers there now were going into the right ears), Gamlen's behavior had gotten even worse, either out of guilt or maybe just pique.

Theta rolled her eyes. "More like 'keeping Gamlen away from the people who want to kill him' duty."

"So half of Kirkwall, in other words." Even Isabela couldn't say that with a smile. Since they both frequented the Blooming Rose, she had been on the receiving end of his attentions far too often.

"Who is this?" Fenris looked at Hawke.

"My uncle."

"Are you _entirely_ sure you three are related to him, Hawke?" Isabela leaned around Fenris to look at her. "I've met your mother. You three ran around Ferelden for most of your life and you still have a sense of class. He's lived in Kirkwall all his life and Hightown for most of it, and he wouldn't know class if it came up behind him and kicked him in the ass."

"Why thank you, Isabela," Hawke chuckled, accepting that for the compliment it was. "I...oh, shit. Watch it, Varric."

Varric turned and cursed under his breath as Bartrand came shouldering up. He shot Hawke a sneering glare (Theta noted with interest that it made Fenris narrow his eyes coldly at the dwarf) before glowering at his brother, seizing a hold of Varric's sleeve and dragging him away from the rest of the group. Catching Hawke's frown, Varric gave her a little wave to tell her it was okay. She clearly didn't like it, but she stayed put.

"How goes the mapping, brother?" Varric kept his voice mild, knowing it would annoy Bartrand more than anything.

"Are you deliberately trying to waste my time until the darkspawn fill the roads up again and I lose a once in a lifetime opportunity?" Batrand snarled. "I told you that you were wasting time...both mine and yours...on that human."

"You also told me I was wasting time trying to find a map," Varric reminded him mildly.

Batrand scowled.

"Don't tell me those maps aren't real, you wouldn't have been spending so much time with them if you couldn't use them," Varric pressed, knowing full well Batrand had already narrowed down what entrance and path he wanted to use.

"You're actually going to bring that entire freak show you've gathered around you down into the Deep Roads?" Bartrand snapped.

"What does it matter?" Varric didn't bother to try and hide his impatience. "Don't get your beard in a twist, Bartrand. It won't affect your share of the treasure at all. We'll divide it three ways between you, me, and Hawke and Hawke and I will split our shares equally with the others. Simple." He started to move back to his friends, dodging his brother's attempt to grab him again. "We're more than halfway there, by the time you find replacements for your mercenaries, I'll have everything we need to finish funding it up."

That was the core of this, of course. Bartrand needed someone to take his anger out on. Some of the mercenaries Bartrand had lined up for the expedition had gotten themselves killed in a bar brawl...a rare one Isabela _hadn't_ started...which infuriated his brother. Furthermore, every time they came up with sovereigns for the expedition, it further proved he'd misjudged the Hawke sisters, and that _really_ stuck in his craw. Varric had always had a better judgement of people but Bartrand would walk straight into the Void before he would admit it. Bartrand had taken over the Tethras clan's fortune very young and had expanded it beyond the surface even back into Orzammar, his ambition knowing no bounds. He was used to dominating everything from business deals to personal relationships and the fact even a few bits of the expedition wasn't completely in his control drove him crazy.

Several cold looks were awaiting Bartrand back at the stall. Hawke was watching him, expressionless, and Isabela gave him an insolent glare as she took a slow drink from her bottle. Even Merrill was staring at him with narrow eyes. His chin jutted up and he walked up beside Varric just to prove he didn't give a damn. He gave Hawke an arrogant look. "You better make this worth the sneers we're getting for taking a Ferelden on, human. I've heard enough leech jokes to last me a lifetime." He put emphasis on the word 'leech' pointedly.

"So have I. It's a very...common...attitude in Kirkwall," Hawke said. Varric still had no idea how she managed to say a simple phrase like that with an utterly mild tone and still manage to make it as insulting as a slap to the face. Normally he enjoyed it when she pulled something like that, but seeing Bartrand bristle made him wish she'd kept her mouth shut this time around.

"Come now, handsome, your reputation can take a few grumbles," Isabela drawled. "You're the great Bartrand Tethras, leader of the most famous expedition in Kirkwall and it hasn't even started yet!"

Also the most betted upon, as most people assumed they were all going to die down there, but there was no point in bringing that up.

Bartrand gave Isabela a disgusted look that only made her grin, and then turned and stalked off without a word. Varric sighed and took a drink, knowing he'd be hearing about this all week. Theta refilled his mug again sympathetically and Merrill showed the boundless depth of the goodness in her heart by offering him an un-sampled cookie.

He'd been on the receiving end of Bartrand's temper far too much during his life to let it ruin his day. It didn't take much time or effort on his friends' part to lift his mood, but he appreciated them trying.

* * *

Bethany watched Anders dance with her mother. As promised, she kept half an eye on her uncle, but Gamlen had met up with a prostitute roaming for customers through the crowd and disappeared down an alley. She was _not_ going to follow. They'd given him a purse full of coin just in case. If he was going to spend all of it on a dockside whore, that was his choice.

Her mother laughed, making Bethany smile. It had been a long time since she'd heard Leandra laugh like that. And she'd never seen Anders like this, either. He was more relaxed and carefree than she'd ever seen him. For a moment, she could almost see the man he had been before Justice. She was glad everyone had come out for Feastday, they needed it. Through the crowd, she'd taken note that even that sour elf with the strange markings had come out to see the celebration. That one worried her. She wasn't afraid he would hurt her. For all his suspicion toward mages...and her..., he'd been perfectly polite since that first night, and she'd spent enough time around Fenris over the past weeks to judge he seemed to have moved her out of the 'immediate threat I might have to kill' category. When he had helped them take down some mercenaries a few days ago, he'd trusted her to stand at their backs without even glancing back at her once.

No, it was the fact Alessa seemed drawn to him and that worried Bethany. When she teased her sister about her taste in men, it wasn't without grounds. Oh, she wasn't being obvious about it, but Bethany was her sister and she knew the signs when Alessa was on her way to being enamored. In fact, the last person to so obviously fascinate her had been her first. And worst. She supposed they shared regrets in that regard.

She was drawn out of her thoughts as her mother walked up to her, face flushed and eyes shining, a bright smile on her lips. Before Bethany knew what was happening, Anders was taking her hand and drawing her out onto the space cleared for dancing. "Oh! I'm not sure..."

"Oh, go on, Bethany, you've been watching Gamlen all day, you should have some fun," Leandra said gaily. She threw a sarcastic, almost defiant look in the direction her brother had gone. " _He_ has."

"I don't know any steps," Beth murmured to Anders, looking up a him.

"What steps?" The other mage chuckled, guiding her easily.

"All right, but if I step on your feet, it's your own fault!"

"I've been warned." Anders didn't seem concerned at all and after a moment, Bethany relaxed, letting him lead her. To her surprise, it wasn't hard at all. "I never was really good at the dances Mother tried to teach me...it's hard to count and enjoy yourself at the same time..." She said, feeling a bit self conscious.

"You think too much. With those kinds of dances, enjoyment is meant to be secondary to worrying about whether you have more jewels than the next woman and concentrating on not falling out of your dress," Anders said.

Bethany laughed aloud. "I didn't think the Circle would bother to teach their mages to dance." She paused, not sure if she should have said that, but Anders didn't seem to be offended.

"No, I learned during the times I was wandering around after escaping. I taught some of the others how to do it after I came back. You should have seen how baffled and suspicious the templars there looked whenever we did it. They probably thought it was some kind of evil ancient ritual," he said, guiding her through a twirl, making her giggle.

"You said you did that six times? Escaped the Circle?"

"Seven, by the time I met the Warden Commander."

"I don't know if I would have had the courage to do that...run away from the Circle."

Anders looked at her in surprise. "You've been an apostate your whole life."

"Exactly. It was always others...my family...taking the risks. To keep me free." She looked over to where her mother was standing at the edge of the crowd, talking to another Ferelden refugee.

"They chose to take those risks because they love you," Anders said gently. "You think I haven't noticed how quick your sister is to launch herself at anyone who looks at you the wrong way?"

Bethany made a face. "She's always been like that. At least with me. She and Carver. Oh, they used to fight each other all the time, they were just too alike though they would have been horrified to hear me say that."

Anders chuckled. "They were even overbearing because they loved you."

"Alessa wasn't as bad as Carver until..." She trailed off, pained.

Anders's hand tightened around hers softly. "Until your father died?"

"Yes...when he died Mother...she just fell apart for a while...we all did, really...and Carver was with the King's army. It fell on Alessa to keep us all together. And now we're in Kirkwall and surrounded by templars. She and Mother are both feeling overprotective. It's like I'm six years old and just learning my powers again." She glanced around, realizing she'd been speaking out loud.

"No one is paying attention. Trust me on this, Bethany, people in places like this during times like this aren't paying attention to the noise around them."

"That's true..." she nodded. "When the templars had wind of us, we often stayed in crowded cities. In places even worse than Uncle Gamlen's house, more often than not. I think Alessa learned to pick pockets solely for the chance to get back at the people that kicked at us on the streets when we were little. Once, a man actually knocked Carver aside so hard, he hit his head and cut it open. I wish we'd had someone like you around then, Anders."

"I like helping people. I didn't get much of a chance to heal in the Circle."

"I bet you had plenty when you joined the Wardens."

He nodded, acknowledging that. "The templars don't much like healers. Taps too far into the Fade, draws spirits, plus I think watching mages using their 'curse' to do something like healing mixes up their poor little templar brains."

The music slowed and he pulled her closer. She felt a blush touch her cheeks, but she didn't pull away. She was enjoying herself, didn't want it to end. "Do you think..." She'd been meaning to ask him this for a bit and was still shy about it. "Is it only people with a connection to the Fade that can heal the way you do? My father knew a little bit and taught me a little bit but..."

He smiled and again, Bethany had the sense she was seeing the man he'd been in Ferelden. "It takes special training to be able to do the fast stuff on the battlefield and such but I would be happy to teach you some things."

"I was thinking maybe I would be able to help you more in the clinic. Alessa has training practically and she taught me some, but..."

"You've been more help than you know. I wish I'd had friends like you and your sister and Varric before. It's been...nice...being able to run around with friends again."

"Are you going into the Deep Roads? I heard Varric asking you about it."

Anders sobered up a bit. "I haven't decided. The Deep Roads are...horrible, Bethany. Even with few darkspawn down there, there's other things in the dark...and this place Bartrand wants to go hasn't been explored yet. We have no idea what can be down there."

She felt a stir of fear at that. That very thing was, she knew, the reason Alessa was all fired up to go. Bethany wasn't so sure. She tamped it down ruthlessly. "With no risk, there's no gain...Father used to say that all the time."

Anders raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure he never meant to apply that to his little girl going down into the Deep Roads."

"I...okay, you're right. He would have locked me in the attic before he'd let me run off to the Deep Roads. Mother keeps trying to persuade me not to go, either."

"No one will blame you if you decide not to. The only reason I'm considering it is because I know I could actually help Varric and your sister down there."

"If they find a lot of treasure, you could use your share of it to help with your clinic too," Beth said thoughtfully.

"Yes, that too." He met her gaze seriously. "If you want some advice on the decision, I'll say...don't go down there simply because you feel obliged to, Bethany. It is far too much of a risk."

She nodded and he didn't press further, moving the conversations to simpler, lighter things, allowing both of them to enjoy a rare, brief moment they didn't have to look over their shoulders.

* * *

_The murmur of conversation rode over the soft tinkle of music that seemed to come from nowhere, punctured only occasionally by the loud laugh of someone newly risen in ranks trying to show they were having a better time than anyone else. Magically crafted light lent everything a faintly red tint. It gleamed off patterns on silk picked out in gold thread on dresses and robes; sent sparks of light off jewels that graced the ears, throats, and fingers of women; gave a deeper color to the already deep red wine as it fell into wine cups. Danarius was a fan of subtle shows of power, the red tint was his way of gloating about the supposedly forbidden magic he practiced openly. Because he was powerful enough to do it as long as he didn't pull too much attention to himself._

_The fleeting thought that you could tell how much higher a magister rose in status by the increase in posturing he or she did crossed his mind before he tamped it down. Unwise to let such thoughts pass through his mind- you never knew who might be listening -though it had gotten increasingly difficult lately to hold them back._

_It was probably a stray thought that had caused Danarius to have him pour wine this night. Not that he needed a reason, the sight of his favored pet and bodyguard doing such a thing not only told his guests he wasn't worried anyone here could harm him, the amusement of seeing it was plenty enough reason for him to set him to the task._

" _Fenris."_

_He turned as Danarius called to him. The magister whose cup he'd just filled let her fingers trail down his arm with a sultry smile and it was only discipline that kept him from wincing. His markings had been aching badly over the past few days and seemed even worse tonight. Even the faintest brush against them brought a rush of physical pain and remembered pain that was almost as bad._

_Luckily, his master's summons gave him a way to pull away without figuring out how to do it subtly. He crossed the room where Danarius waited. Hadriana stood next to her master, smirking at him as he approached. Her eyes, however, were glinting with a hard light, perhaps noticing the way heads turned to watch him and the possessive gleam in Danarius's eyes that sickened Fenris as much as it enraged her. Hadriana wore a silk dress, not of the same quality as some of the magisters but still fine enough, that clung to her like a second skin, the bodice of it dipping down almost to her navel, baring pale skin and cleavage. A jeweled choker she must have paid far more than was practical for her means rested around her throat. Her makeup, no doubt artfully brushed on by her slaves, didn't make her look any less like a ferret. Just as her status didn't hide the fact that if it came down to a choice between his apprentice and the slave with the graceful lines of lyrium in his skin, she wouldn't be the one Danarius chose. In the end, she was replaceable. Fenris was not. It was one more thing the other magisters and apprentices had to snicker over at her expense and she would never forgive him for it._

_Danarius watched him, his pale eyes hooded as they trailed over him._ You can hide nothing from me, _that look said. He held out his cup and gripped Fenris's wrist in a swift, crushing grip as he put the wine bottle forward. The pain was so sudden and immediate, Fenris had to concentrate with everything in him to keep from letting the bottle slip from his fingers, unable stop the flinch that crossed his features. "Careful now, my little wolf, don't spill a drop," Danarius murmured as he released his hold. "One of those bottles is worth almost half of you..."_

Agreggio Pavali.

Fenris stared at the bottles set in a neat line on the rack with wonder. He couldn't believe Danarius had actually left his favorite wine here. _Six_ bottles of it. If he'd had any doubts from the valuables Fenris had made use of over the weeks that Danarius had fled almost the second he got wind his runaway slave was coming for him, this laid those doubts to rest.

He pulled a bottle off the rack and studied it, then took two others and walked back up the stairs. The day after he'd settled into the mansion, Varric and Hawke had showed up at the door, telling him if he was living there, they ought to go over it and make sure all the traps were gone. They had not been; between the two of them, they had found several he might not have spotted before they caused him injury. Hawke had been the one who found the ones on the cellar stairs and door and had mentioned casually that they were strong ones. It had not occurred to him until later that might be significant and he had come down for the first time to poke around.

The elf carried the bottles up to the room Danarius had been using that he had claimed for his own, setting them on the table. He paused at the open journal he'd found earlier, also sitting on the table. It was Danarius's, that much he knew. It was pages of his tightly packed handwriting, squiggles with no meaning. At the back of it, however, there were a series of pictures, crudely drawn as if for a child. A wolf with a broken leash trailing behind it running around, pissing on trees, standing surrounded by bodies with an idiot, lolling tongued grin. In the final one, the wolf had been caged up and looked much sleeker and more dignified, sitting proud within the bars.

Danarius had left that before he fled in a place he knew Fenris would eventually find it, open to those last pages. Even having fled, he had to have the last word. The crudity of the drawings in contrast to the elegant handwriting was a second layer of taunting. He knew whatever secrets were safe within because Fenris couldn't read them.

Fenris slammed the journal closed and knocked it off the table. The rage of finding it earlier had been what had driven him out into the streets today as much as curiosity.

Knowing his master's tastes all too well, he dug around the room until he found a corkscrew in a drawer. The wine gave off a heady perfume as he uncorked it. The scent he was familiar with, having poured plenty of the wine. The taste, on the other hand...nothing was worth risking the type of punishment Danarius would mete out on any slave who dared to try and sneak a drink of his prized wine.

Fenris took a mouthful straight from the bottle, closing his eyes at the taste. He took another drink, savoring it mouthful by mouthful. When it was gone, the warmth of it spreading through him, lightening his mood, he turned and threw the bottle at the wall across the room, enjoying the tinkling crash of the fine glass as it smashed.

His eyes fell on the other bottles of Agreggio. On impulse, he snatched a full bottle of it up and threw it as well. He smiled faintly, imagining Danarius's horror as the bottle smashed, leaving a deep red splotch on the wall, spraying fearfully expensive wine in every direction, long drips of it sliding down the wall.

"I think a nice still life would look better there, personally."

He tensed at the unexpected voice, but relaxed almost immediately as he recognized it, turning to see Hawke standing in the doorway, her head cocked curiously. Her hair was still pulled back into a small tail at the back of her head, her clothes were stained with grease and she had a long streak of soot on her cheekbone she seemed unaware of. She was carrying a paper twist of what smelled like roasted chestnuts, the scent of it complementing the scent of wine that now filled the room.

"It's good I can still take pleasure in the small things," he said, feeling both embarrassed and slightly defiant. "Was there something you needed?"

She shrugged, stepping further into the room. She shook the last of the chestnuts out of the paper and offered some to him. He took a couple, enjoying the taste over the aftertaste of the wine. Hawke crumpled the paper and tossed it in the fire. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. You left so fast earlier, I turned around and you were gone." She sniffed, eyeing the wine decorated wall. "What kind of wine is that?"

"Agreggio Pavali." He nodded as her eyebrows winged up. She recognized the name, of course. Even those who hated Tevinter made an exception for its finest export from its famous vineyards, it was world renowned.

Hawke seemed on the verge of making some comment and apparently decided not to ask him why he was smashing a bottle of one of the world's most expensive wine on his walls. "Anyway, you missed Isabela getting two fellows all stirred up and getting into a fight over her. It would have turned into a brawl right in the middle of the festival if Aveline hadn't shown up."

Having met that particular guardswoman, he couldn't blame them at all for quitting that fight before she hauled them away. Probably single-handedly. He picked up the third bottle and turned back toward the fire, opening it.

"Were those in the cellar? No wonder he had traps all over the place," Hawke commented. "Can I sit?"

He blinked over at her in surprise and nodded, motioning towards a chair. He still forgot to offer her a seat because he was utterly unused to someone waiting for his permission. The first time he'd commented on it, she'd just given him a puzzled look and said she wouldn't have sat down without an invitation in any other home in Hightown, why would she in his home?

It was just such little gestures from her...she treated everyone with the exact same politeness no matter what their status or race...and the way she did them as if they were the most natural thing in the world, that intrigued him so...

He took another drink, pulling his thoughts away from that, then looked at the bottle, swirling the wine within it. "Six bottles of it. Danarius used to have me pour this for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said. Which he enjoyed."

"I can't imagine they were _all_ intimidated. Unless you were giving them all your 'I'm going to kill you' look. You have a very effective one." She sounded distracted and when Fenris looked over at her, he saw to his chagrin that she'd come across the journal on the floor and had picked it up. It had fallen open to the drawings and she blinked at them, frowning.

"Danarius's last taunt," he found himself saying, defensive. "He must have drawn it before he left the mansion. He used to call me his 'little wolf'."

She studied the drawings, brows furrowed as she understood what they were supposed to mean. "He didn't have the time to take six bottles of Agreggio Pavali out of the cellar but he had the time to sit here and draw these to leave behind before he fled? Well, I hope that made him feel better about himself."

He hadn't thought of it that way. He looked back at the fire, thoughtful and tense. Now she would ask why he'd done it with drawings and he didn't know how to answer her without revealing that particular inability of his...

But Hawke just shrugged and closed the journal, setting it on the table and moving around it to a chair. She sat, tucking her legs beneath her. Fenris didn't look at her, taking another drink and throwing the half full bottle to join its brothers.

Hawke looked amused. "Could have offered me a glass first, you know."

"There's more if you're really interested." He kept his voice neutral, not sure if she was laughing at him.

She gave him that flashing, mischievous smile of hers. " _Then_ how will you redecorate the walls?"

That startled a laugh out of him, the sound so unfamiliar he almost didn't believe it had come from him.

"Although I reckon it's worth it; I can almost hear your former master screaming clear across Thedas," Hawke continued.

That sobered him a bit. It did seem like a waste on such a pointless gesture since Danarius would never know about it. But he couldn't make himself regret it. It gave him some satisfaction, if only momentarily, to know he could destroy something Danarius prized. "I've wanted to leave my past behind me, but it won't stay there..." he murmured.

"It always seems to find a way to creep up on you, doesn't it?" Hawke agreed, her voice quiet. She turned her head, looking into the fire.

Fenris wondered if she was thinking of her home. Did she ever consider going back? He wondered briefly what it was like there. "Tell me, have you ever wanted to return to Ferelden?"

She looked over at him as he sat down across from her, looking startled. "There's nothing left of Lothering. A friend of Mother's wrote to her and told her even the ground there is too tainted, no one can rebuild on it or grow anything."

Fenris frowned. He'd gotten the impression they had been happy there, did it really mean so little to her? "The Blight is over. You could rebuild what you lost. You truly don't want to?"

She was silent for a few moments, looking back at the fire. Finally, she said, "My mother was born here, there's a chance she can regain what she lost when she left. I don't think she's ready to go back to Ferelden with all the memories of Carver and Father there. And home has never been a place for me; it's wherever my family is."

He never let on that he enjoyed hearing her talk about her past and her family. However hard things had been, there was always a warmth, and obvious love, that suffused Hawke's voice. She looked back at him. "I do miss Lothering, though. It was the first real home we had. I've always liked being able to wander, but I admit wandering has always been better knowing there's a home waiting for me."

"Having a place you could put down roots," he said quietly. He hadn't realized how much he'd wanted that before he'd had the chance to do it here.

Hawke smiled. "Motion sickness: the price of rootlessness, as Father used to say."

Another mage, her father. But Bethany seemed to have a strong character for a mage, she must have gotten it somewhere. He couldn't imagine the man was cruel and capricious if her mother had been willing to give up her privileged life here and go on the run with him for most of her life. If someone like Hawke spoke of him with such a river of love and longing in her voice.

She studied him. "How long have you been on the run yourself, Fenris?"

"Three years now. Danarius has a way of finding me. Perhaps it is the markings. Either way, it never takes him long to follow. This is the first time I've given him reason to pause. Perhaps there are advantages in numbers..."

"So, are you putting down roots yourself? Here?" Hawke leaned back in her chair.

He wasn't willing to state anything, part of him afraid to grow attached to a place in case something happened to drive him away, as something had every time he spent in any place for longer than a few weeks. "I haven't decided. For now, it's as good a place as any. I'd return to Seheron if I could, but there's no life for me there." Not when he couldn't look the people there in the eye.

"I've never heard of Seheron, is that where you're from?" Hawke seemed as interested in his past as he was in hers, though he couldn't imagine why, and he wasn't as willing to talk about it.

"So I've been told," he hedged.

"You don't remember? Were you too young to when you left?"

"Perhaps."

Hawke took the hint from the shortness in his voice and dropped the subject. "From what Varric told me, he seemed to get the impression you were on the verge of tracking your old master down."

He had considered it, part of him wanting to just end the chase, tired of it. But that didn't mean he was suicidal. "I imagine he returned to Minrathous and I dare not go to the city while he's alive. It's better to wait for him to leave his fortress. Fight from a fortified position."

"He might give up one day, still," she said. She rose, moving to the table, looking down at the journal again. "The shallow way I imagine he thinks...if you can even call it that...eventually he'll probably think the cost is too much."

The implication of her words- that the fact Danarius viewed Fenris only as expensive property was a fault of the magister's -warmed him almost as much as the wine did. If only he could believe Danarius would just give up completely. "I'll go to him, then. I won't live with a wolf at my back."

"Yes...that's understandable." Hawke nodded slowly, flipping through the entries of the journal. He was curious about what it said but couldn't bring himself to ask.

"If it comes to that, though I doubt it will. I do not expect your help when that day arrives, but I would not turn it aside."

She gave him a surprised look. "Of course I'd help. You think I'd just sit back and watch him try and drag you off? Not likely." She waved the journal. "I don't think I'd like him, anyway. He can't write three sentences in here without pissing me off."

He chuckled, not sure how to respond to that.

"You could stay here, you know." There was an odd note to her voice. She tugged her hair free and it fell around her face, so black the firelight caught sparks of blue in it. "There's very few places more fortified than Kirkwall."

"I could see myself staying...for the right reasons."

She glanced over at him at those quiet words and the look that flickered through her strange, beautiful eyes, the sudden faint tension vibrating the air, made him confirm something he had been shying away from. There was a pull between them, drawing them toward each other. It was why he was willing to speak of things to her that he had to no one else. It wasn't just physical, he'd been attracted to women and men both he'd come across on the run as well. This woman fascinated him, made him honestly want to see more of the mind behind those eyes.

Hawke looked away first, a faint blush touching her cheeks, and Fenris glanced away as well, his thoughts off balance. He groped for something to say. "I should thank you again for helping me against the hunters. If I'd known Anso would find me a woman so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner."

She flipped the journal closed and smiled at him, pushing her hair back from her face, a nervous gesture. "Talk is cheap, handsome."

"Is that so?" The obvious fact she was clearly as affected by that sudden moment of tension helped ease his own nerves, made a smile curve his own lips as he rose to his feet. "Perhaps I'll practice my flattery for your next visit? With any luck, I'll become better at it."

"Well isn't that an intriguing thought." Hawke paused, studying the journal, then laid it on the table, looking up at him with a serious expression now. "Burn that thing, Fenris. That's all its good for. What's inside it is as worthless as the man who wrote it."

Fenris stared at the journal for a while after she left, setting the tips of his fingers on its cover. If there was no worthwhile information in it- and he trusted Hawke on that -then there was no reason to keep it, was there?

_As worthless as the man who wrote it._

He turned his head, studying the wine stains on the wall for a moment.

Then he picked the journal up and threw it in the fire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alessa's quote from her father was actually taken from this quote from one of Jeffery Wright's characters in Angels in America by Tony Kushner: "Price of rootlessness, motion sickness. Only cure: keep moving." It just fit so well.


	13. Busy Day at the Viscount's Keep

" _You don't have to have faith to believe in something."_

\- **Bethany Hawke**

* * *

"Forget thrashing mercenaries and retrieving lost property, elf, _this_ is the kind of job that gets us up and going!" Fenris looked up as Varric approached the bar, waving a sheet of paper. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the 'us' part. He hadn't outright agreed he was going on this expedition of theirs but that didn't seem to matter to the dwarf. The inclusion of him into this odd little group was...nice. He supposed. And unexpected.

He caught a glimpse of what was on the paper. "The Viscount?"

"His son is missing. Time to be heroes!"

Curious, Fenris followed him looking over the paper Varric had brought along. "They think the Qunari took him?"

"Apparently, the boy has been showing some sympathy for them. Wanders the coast, talks to them..."

"They'd do well to try and speak to the Arishok rather than provoke them."

"According to the Seneschal, the Arishok doesn't think it's his business. The Qunari on the coast are...well, damn what's the word...the rebels."

"Tal-Vashoth?"

"That's it!"

That didn't bode well for the boy. Theta had told him several of the Qunari stranded...if that's what they were...here had taken the opportunity to break off on their own. She hadn't said anything outright, but there was a steely look in her eyes that suggested they might not be using their freedom the way she had.

Varric passed through Lowtown with a confidence few could claim. People either had no desire to attack Varric Tethras, or they were too afraid of repercussions to risk it. Fenris was about to ask where they were going when the dwarf stopped in front of a small house. A tall, thin man with a pinched face was standing outside it, scowling down at a group of battered, chipped flower pots next to the door, each holding either one or two plants.

Varric sauntered up to him. "Afternoon, Gamlen, is Hawke around?"

"No," Gamlen spat, looking up. "If she was, I'd be having a talk with her about turning my damn stoop into a damn flowerbed."

"Can't sympathize with you, friend, some of those herbs have helped me considerably. And you too, so I hear," Varric commented.

Gamlen only scowled deeper. "Whole damn house smells like a garden shop."

That, Fenris thought, could only be an improvement.

"Any idea where she went?" Varric asked before Gamlen could launch into more complaints.

"Who knows? She's gallivanting off to every corner of the city, I can't keep track of her."

A woman leaned out the door. Her hair was greying and her eyes were blue instead of brown, but she still bore a striking resemblance to Bethany Hawke. Her frown became a smile when she saw the dwarf. "Hello, Varric."

"Tsk, Gamlen, look at you. Surrounded by beautiful women and all you can do is complain," Varric said gallantly, gesturing toward her. "How goes the battle to regain the manor, Lady Hawke?"

Gamlen snorted and she ignored him. "No word from the Viscount's office yet, but such things take time. If I get no answer, I'll just have to send a request again, won't I?" And again and again and again until she got what she wanted, the steely gleam in her eyes said. "Alessa and Bethany are helping Anders at his clinic. He's helping Bethany refine her healing."

"And probably helping her turn into an abomination as well," Fenris grumbled without thinking about it.

The mother bear look Hawke had presented the first night they'd met was absolutely nothing compared to the one Leandra Hawke leveled at him now. "When you're helping refugees without asking for anything in return, you can sneer. My girls," she took one step out of the house, speaking low and fierce, "are _good_ girls. _Both_ of them. The fact one of them is a mage makes no difference whatsoever."

There was absolutely no reason he should have been intimidated by a woman several decades older than he who couldn't have lasted two seconds in a fight against him. No reason at all. So he had no idea why he'd taken several steps backward and Gamlen had retreated several feet. Varric was very pointedly making sure he was behind Fenris and out of the line of fire even as he spoke. "Well, we've got a job for the Viscount, so if we do it right, we might be helping your cause along. I'm sure Hawke will tell you all about it. Come on, elf."

Leandra's gaze softened. "Be careful. All of you."

"Will do." Varric glanced over his shoulder as they headed for Darktown. "She's only seen 'the apostate running a free clinic for refugees like her' part of Anders, elf, not the abomination part."

Fenris scowled and didn't reply. Hawke's mother and the rest of her family had been lucky. Her mother obviously hadn't been subjected to what mages could do.

"She's big on the clinic, Leandra. It gives Bethany a bit more protection and it gives Hawke a way to feel better about running around and killing so she's all for it."

Yes, he knew Hawke preferred to heal rather than harm. To the point she was alarmingly willing to let people go she really should have killed. Like that group of escaped mages Isabela had mentioned. There were far too many mages in Hawke's vicinity, which was a reason he was wary of this group. If he didn't owe a debt to Hawke...

It hadn't taken him long to pinpoint what bothered him about the Dalish woman, that Merrill. When he'd mentioned to Varric they were working with a blood mage, he'd been stunned when the dwarf had answered quite casually that they knew. All of them. Some of them didn't approve, but none of them did anything to stop it. They _protected_ her. Apparently the Dalish was using her blood magic to fix some kind of artifact and the others seemed to believe she wouldn't harm anyone with it. He expected that kind of naivete from Hawke; she had a skewed view of magic, being raised by an apostate. But not the others...even Aveline was disturbingly willing to turn a blind eye.

And Anders...

He'd passed through Darktown on a number of occasions, but he had never been to Anders's clinic. It was a busy place, people passing in and out its doors for healing, desperate enough to risk healing by an apostate because they couldn't afford anything else.

The first person he saw when he came in behind Varric was Isabela, who was on her way out. She pulled up short when she saw them, a furtive look crossing her face before she smoothed it over easily. Like neither of them could figure out why she might have come to the healer for. Isabela was open and unapologetic about her lifestyle, which Fenris honestly admired, but he imagined it left her open to...things she would need a discreet healer for. She gave them both a curious look- and in Fenris's case a slow smile. He would have been more flattered by the blatant attentions of such a beautiful woman if he hadn't seen her bestow that smile on any number of men and women, he thought with amusement.

"Varric!"

The call came from further in the clinic. A man was perched on a table, his arm held in front of him, obviously broken. He was hunched over it protectively, giving Varric a plaintive look. Hawke was standing beside him, her hands on her hips, looking impatient.

Varric shook his head. "Get into another fight, Eaeds?"

"They started it! Arm hurts like a bitch, got any drink on you?"

"Don't you dare give it to him, Varric," Hawke ordered. She was trying to pull him upright so she could get at his arm and he was resisting. "He's already drunk. That's how he got into the fight in the first place."

"No, _they_ started it!"

"They _always_ start it, Eaeds, no matter who they are," Varric said, rolling his eyes.

"See!" The man hiccuped, leaning forward to point at Varric, unknowingly giving Hawke the opening she needed. He shook his finger at Varric, looking at Isabela, then Fenris with a fierce glare. "See, he says it too! Varric believes me! None of _you_ ever believe me." He said it with great offence, apparently taking no note of the fact neither one of them knew who he was. "Good man, Varric, now ignore this harpy and gimme some..."

Hawke, who had been looking back and forth between them and Eaeds, shrugged and used his distraction to set his arm, pulling it straight out with a hard jerk. Eaeds's demand turned into a garbled shriek and his other arm came up. Fenris was moving before he realized it, wrapping a hand around the man's wrist to keep him from hitting Hawke. He felt heat race through him as light flared along his markings. The flash of anger that had made them light up faded quickly, so did the light, but Eaeds still stared at him, wide eyed, barely noticing as Bethany came forward hurriedly and wrapped her hands around the break while Hawke held it in alignment. Fenris released his hand and stepped back.

Hawke wiped her hands off on a cloth. "Thank you, Fenris. No harm done."

"You were trying to help him and he was going to strike you," he said, not taking his eyes off Eaeds.

"He was just flailing around because he's a crybaby about pain. Weren't you, Eaeds?" Bethany gave him a pointed glare and he nodded, eyes still wide.

"Kid with a dislocated knee whacked me a good one yesterday," Hawke said, rubbing her head and smiling ruefully.

"Even he handled himself better than you, Eaeds." A large boned woman with steely gray eyes and brown hair drawn up in a bun so tight it looked painful stomped up. Another mage, Fenris thought, narrowing his eyes. Eaeds cowered a bit and Fenris couldn't blame him. She inspected the man's arm and bestowed an approving smile on Bethany. "Lovely work." She scowled at Eaeds. "You're fixed up, get on out of here."

The man needed no second invitation, almost scurrying out.

Hawke looked at the paper Fenris still held in his hand. He handed it to her silently and she read as Varric approached, eying the older woman warily. She was talking quietly to Bethany, ignoring them. Fenris let his gaze track across the rest of the clinic, taking in the people waiting to be healed. Anders was standing at the back, tending to a young woman who was staring up at him adoringly.

They had clashed from the moment they met, Fenris and Anders. The healer's comparison of mages to slaves rubbed Fenris the wrong way and his idealized view of the Tevinter Imperium was even more alarming for the fact the mage had a clear agenda to free the other mages. It wasn't just that, though. Fenris didn't know if his instincts had simply been honed to perfection by his life on the run or if they were enhanced by the markings on him, but he never doubted them. And Anders set every instinct alight, not just alerting him but _screaming_ at him. And they had been proven right. Anders was an abomination in human form. Fenris wouldn't have been surprised if he only ran this clinic so he would have people to back him up and hide him.

Like the elf witch, however, Anders was already an entrenched part of this group. The ease and familiarity in which Hawke moved around the clinic showed that clearly. That didn't mean, he thought, that he couldn't help Hawke. He would just have to watch the mages closely, that was all. If one of them weakened and turned into an abomination, she would need someone there to help her...

"Figured we ought to get the drop on this as soon as possible. I saw a mercenary arguing with the Seneschal and she seemed pretty determined to get that reward." Fenris turned his attention back to the dwarf. Hawke nodded slowly, eyes gleaming. She looked over at her sister. "Coming, Beth?"

"Rhea and Anders are going to help me learn how to treat internal injuries today, so I think I'll stay behind," the young woman replied, not looking up from the notes she was holding.

"All right. Tell Anders I'll finish grinding those herbs tonight and bring them down tomorrow."

Bethany just gave a distracted nod. She looked so much like her sister when Hawke was focused on something that Fenris smiled, shaking his head.

"Come on, Rivani, you can't tell me you aren't a bit intrigued by what kind of money the Viscount will give us," Varric said. The two of them shared a grin that meant nothing but trouble.

Isabela gestured grandly. "Lead the way."

* * *

It happened so fast, Saemus didn't even have time to realize what was happening. He had been gazing idly along the coast, content to let Ashaad get his work done, when the sudden attack came. This was one of the rare times Saemus had to his own thoughts during the day. Either his father was talking at him or the Seneschal or any number of court people were giving him instructions or directions.

He didn't get any of that from Ashaad. And it wasn't just due to the fact they couldn't truly talk other than a few words. Ashaad didn't recognize anyone's authority except the Arishok's, therefore the qunari didn't pay Saemus's position any heed. It made the Viscount's son wonder what it was like to be so certain of your place in the world...

A faint whizzing sound was the only warning he got before Ashaad yelled a wordless battle cry, dropping the maps he had been drawing. Metal sang as the qunari scout turned to face the sudden mass of people swarming into the clearing. They weren't his father's guards, he didn't know any of these people. "Stop!" He struggled forward as they converged on the qunari. " _Stop!"_

They didn't listen. Someone grabbed him by the arms, hauling him back. He fought helplessly against the strong grip as they killed Ashaad. The qunari fought valiantly but in the end he was unprepared and hopelessly outnumbered. Only when his body hit the ground did whoever was holding him let go. He stumbled forward, ignoring them, let them kill him if that's what they had come to do...and fell to his knees beside his friend's body. "Ashaad..."

"And the world is rid of one more qunari."

He looked up at the woman who had stepped up on the other side of Ashaad's body. She smiled smugly as she looked down at him. "It was even easier than I expected." She glanced over her shoulder. "Call the men back. We've got an appointment with the Viscount!" She swung her gaze back to him. "Isn't that right, Saemus."

So they were here because his father had posted a reward. But there had been no need to kill Ashaad! "You killed him..." The anger that rose up in him was like nothing he'd ever felt before. "You...you _vashedan_ bitch!"

She looked amused. "Is that one of their words? See? That's why you need to be dragged home. You're playing too nice with those _things_." She spat on Ashaad's corpse contemptuously and fixed him with a cold gaze. That smug, self satisfied expression made Saemus want to hit her. His fingers curled into fists. "I'd wager you've gone even further than that, haven't you?" she said quietly, her voice heavy with implication. "You brat."

"You knew he wasn't a threat and you killed him anyway!" Saemus accused her furiously.

"Blame yourself, you're the one fraternizing with these things like they were human," she snapped. "It's an animal. A qunari."

"That is incorrect." They both spun at the sound of a woman's voice behind them. She was standing on the slope leading down to the clearing, watching them. "Strictly speaking, he's kossith. That's the name of their race. 'Qunari' refers to anyone who is part of the Qun, regardless of race. Theta says it is a common misconception." Her voice was pleasant, as if she'd just come across someone having a friendly debate rather than the Viscount's son and a murderous rescuer.

It wiped the smug look off the woman's face, clearly caught off guard by the other woman's tone and sudden appearance. A much more motley group than the mercenaries came up behind her, gathering around her: an elf, a dwarf, and another human woman, this one dressed...Saemus couldn't think of a polite way to describe how she was dressed. She was showing so much skin he actually blushed and glanced away as she spoke, her voice mocking, "Ginnis, you tawdry bitch, how perfectly dreadful to see you."

"You're too late, Isabela," Ginnis snarled. "The Winters...and I...have already claimed him."

Saemus looked over at the newcomers, speaking to the black haired woman who had first appeared. "Serrah, if I must go back, so be it. But I will not see these...murderers...rewarded." He glared at Ginnis.

Ginnis's smug look was long gone, replaced by an almost crazed look of rage. "Spoiled shit! I'll cut out your tongue and charge extra for bringing you back quiet!" She pulled her swords and Saemus backed away in disbelief. She wouldn't dare...would she? She snarled at the newcomers. "And as for you...I could do with some entertainment while we wait for the others."

"What do you know about entertainment? You're a crashing bore, Ginnis, everyone says so." Isabela sounded bored indeed, even as she drew her daggers from her back.

Ginnis snarled wordlessly and gestured to her men, charging at Isabela specifically. Saemus backed all the way up against the rocks. It wasn't fast like it had been with Ashaad. Ginnis and Isabela battled across the clearing, snarling insults at each other. The dwarf, wielding a crossbow the likes of which Saemus had never seen before, backed up and peppered mercenaries with bolts. He'd lost sight of the black haired woman but she kept appearing at different points of the clearing, moving so fast he kept losing track of her, leaving only bodies in her wake. There was a low boom and several mercenaries heading for the dwarf went flying as an explosion rocked their midst. And the elf...the elf had some kind of strange glow emanating from him and he was wielding that huge sword like it weighed no more than a feather. Any of the mercenaries who charged him died, cut down with a skill that put his father's guardsman to shame. The mercenaries were as unprepared for this group as Ashaad had been for them. Saemus couldn't make himself feel sorry for them.

A yell came across the clearing. Ginnis was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but bearing her teeth in a bloody grin. "You think I came unprepared?" She cackled gleefully, pointing up the slope where an even larger group of mercenaries were running toward them.

"You always have been so prone to overcompensating, Ginnis. Not that I blame you..." Isabela's words were cut off as one of the remaining mercenaries grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides and holding her for Ginnis, who grinned and drew her sword back. Her grin changed into a grimace as the black haired woman appeared between them, kicking the sword out of her hand and spinning, her fist connecting right beneath Ginnis's jaw. Isabela headbutted the man holding her and tore free, elbowing him in the face.

A loud cracking sound filled the air and Saemus turned, staring in shock as the oncoming mercenaries were leveled by bolts of lightning stabbing down onto them from the clear air. A slim elf woman was standing on top of the boulders above, a staff in one hand and her free one stretched out toward the mercenaries. Taking advantage of the confusion, the dwarf and elf charged into the fray as the mage fired off spells from above. Saemus didn't even see a shocked, disbelieving Ginnis die at Isabela's hand, watching in horrified fascination as the bodies piled up. This wasn't like what he'd heard in stories. It was brutal, savage, the scent of blood and singed flesh filling the clearing, making him gag. He had never seen a mage in action before...how did the templars even control them when they could do such things?

Then, abruptly, it was all over. The sudden quiet was deafening after all the noise.

"I thought I saw you coming this way, Hawke. You could have asked me to come along, you know. I'm always missing everything!" The mage said as she climbed down, looking at the black haired woman reproachfully.

"Sorry, Merrill..." Hawke said.

"We took out the Winters! No great loss." Isabela looked the opposite of what Saemus was feeling. Her eyes were wild, exhilarated. "And they're bound to have good stuff on them...probably a lot of coin..." She started going through the clothes of the corpses and the dwarf joined her.

Ashaad was still laying in the center of the clearing. Saemus looked away from the rest of the bodies, kneeling beside him again. He sensed and heard someone kneel beside him and glanced over to see Hawke studying him. He spoke, not sure what drove him to do it other than the sense he might be facing someone who would actually _listen_ to him. "Ashaad...He never lied, never coddled...you were either worth his time, or you were not. They're not the brutes others claim they are..."

"He was your friend?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "I met him not long after their ship landed, after running away from the Keep. He was just mapping the coast for the Arishok...I have so many doubts. The Qunari have none...there was so much about him that I didn't understand...but it was so worth trying." He had to swallow hard, the pointlessness of it all surging up through him, making tears sting his eyes and his throat feel thick.

Hawke was silent for a long moment, giving him some time to compose himself. "Do the Qunari bury their dead?" She finally said, studying Ashaad. "We can bring him back to his people..."

Saemus appreciated her respectful tone, especially after Ginnis's unreasonable and misplaced hatred. "The body is no longer him. It is worthy of no special treatment. That is, apparently, their way."

"It might be best to tell the Arishok at any rate, Hawke." The deep voice came from behind them and Saemus twisted to see the male elf standing behind them, looking down expressionlessly.

"They will know...whether they will deign to acknowledge it...I have no idea," Saemus said. He looked back at Hawke. "Please, take me to my father. I have to try- again -to make him see."

It was nightfall by the time they made it back to Kirkwall. Once they had thoroughly looted the bodies and taken care of injuries, they had led him along the coast.

Saemus felt awkward. Elves tended to avoid humans, so he wasn't used to being around them and he'd only met a few dwarves in his lifetime. Though the dwarf, Varric, seemed the pleasant sort, chatting lightly with Isabela as they walked over some kind of business deal they were adding the money toward. The elf mage was distracted, moving around the group to inspect something that caught her interest or point out an interesting plant, and the other elf was dead silent, his eyes sweeping from one side to the other warily as if he expected another attack at any moment.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Hawke fell into step beside him as they came up to the city entrance. "I wish we had gotten there soon enough to save him."

Saemus smiled at her, touched. She was much younger than he had first assumed, he realized with a jolt. If she was older than he, it wasn't by much. "You couldn't have known, Serrah Hawke."

She nodded. "Your father and the Seneschal were under the impression you were kidnapped by Tal-Vashoth."

He felt a stir of anger. "I told him about Ashaad and where I met him. He should have known better. If he would just listen and try to understand the Qunari, just a little..." He sighed and shook his head. "The only people who listen to me when I try and tell them the Qunari aren't monsters are the Grand Cleric and Brother Vael. Do you know him?"

"Brother...? Oh, you mean Prince Vael. Yes, we've met."

"Even he views them as something to test the faithful and the Grand Cleric...she just tells me to pray."

"That doesn't seem as effective as trying to educate people," Hawke said.

"Sometimes I wonder...they have to be willing to learn."

Hawke nodded. "Sadly true..."

* * *

When he had been younger, he would sometimes sneak into Lowtown in defiance of his father. After he'd been robbed and nearly killed one time, however, he had ceased those visits. He had never been at night, either. It gave the place a very sinister edge that wasn't helped by the shouts and sounds of fighting that echoed up the steps from below.

Hawke glanced over toward the sounds and froze, her eyes going wide. "Aveline!" She launched herself down the stairs toward the fight. Saemus ran to the bannister as the others followed, his eyes widening as he took the scene in. He could make out two of the City Guard, surrounded by a group of thugs. One was on the ground, Saemus couldn't tell if he was injured or not. The other, a tall redheaded woman, was battling the thugs furiously. The thugs barely had time to look up before Hawke and the others clobbered them. It wasn't like the fight with the mercenaries, the thugs that chose to fight went down immediately while the others fled.

Saemus drifted down the stairs, listening, eyes wide. This was certainly an exciting night. The red headed woman, Aveline...he recognized her from the barracks now...was kneeling down, helping the other guardsman to his feet. Hawke was shifting through a bag of some sort. She held its contents up, looking grim. "The seal of the Viscount. Office details...city accounts...very useful information for a guild of thieves."

"A sacrificial delivery with one of our own." Aveline's voice vibrated with anger. "Captain Jeven will answer."

Saemus's eyes widened with shock as he absorbed that. The Guard Captain was giving information to thieves...and sacrificing his own men to do it! The scandal was going to send his father into even more of a huff.

"Selling out his own. Forget Guard Captain, this man should be in government," Hawke said dryly. Saemus winced at how true that was.

"Not now, Hawke. Jeven needs to know how justice works. This goes straight to the office of the Viscount." The guardswoman turned and her eyes fell on Saemus. Her eyes widened as she recognized him.

"She's right about the government, you know," he said.

"Serrah Dumar? Everyone said the Winters were the ones who...Hawke!" She whipped around, glaring at the younger woman. "Lowtown...at night!...and you left him with no one to guard him?"

Saemus flushed, mortified. Hawke blinked up at the guardswoman, fidgeting, looking very young all of a sudden. "Oops..."

"The boy is fine, Lady Manhands, no need to get your smallclothes in a twist," Isabela said blithely. Varric snorted, glancing down and trying to hide it with a cough.

Aveline made a frustrated sound in her throat. "It looks like we're all headed for the Viscount's office."

* * *

The Viscount's relief at having his son returned was short lived. Upon being presented with the evidence of the Guard Captain's betrayal, the Seneschal left hurriedly with Aveline to deal with the problem. The Viscount faced off with his son. He was trying to look stern but there was something...weak...about him, Fenris thought. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. From what he'd observed from the dynamics of this city, the Viscount was about two steps up from ruling in name only, his every move watched by the templars. _Same politics, different ways of going about it_ , he thought.

"The Winters murdered my _friend_. Where's the concern for that?" Saemus said angrily.

"It was my understanding you were captured alone. Foolishly traipsing about the coast as you do," the Viscount snapped back, though his eyes wouldn't quite meet his son's.

"I wasn't captured. I was with Ashaad. He was not a monster to be feared. None of them are. I've already told you that!"

Fenris thought there was plenty about the Qunari to be feared, but kept quiet.

"Better to have it thought you were abducted than to have their influence suspected in my own family!" The Viscount crossed his arms. "Benign or not, it's too much..."

"Father, if you would just try to understand them, others would as well," Saemus said.

"That won't make the Arishok any less disgusted with the city but it might make him less inclined to think it needs to be purged," Fenris agreed.

"Enough!" The Viscount glared at Fenris in outrage and then glared at Hawke, clearly expecting her to silence him.

Hawke simply looked back at him, her brow furrowed. She looked very troubled and a little disappointed. She simply nodded her head to the Viscount and pushed away from the wall, lifting a hand as if to say this was none of her business. She caught Fenris's eye and he nodded, following her and Varric out.

Yelling was coming from the lower level of the Viscount's Keep. Isabela was leaning over the bannister, grinning as she looked down. Hawke walked to the top of the stairs and watched as Aveline and the Viscount emerged from the barracks, watching as Guard Captain Jeven was taken away, cursing and howling. "Ferelden bitch, this was none of your affair! I'll see you hanged! Quartered! This will not stand!"

"Ah, I love a man who upholds the quiet dignity of his station," Varric said.

The Seneschal was speaking quietly to Aveline, who looked stunned. Concerned, Hawke hurried toward her. The Seneschal turned away, his voice loud enough now they could all hear him. "In due time, of course. There will be training...approvals...it will be months at least. But who better to rebuild respect for the Guard than the woman who exposed this...embarrassment."

Hawke stopped short and Varric raised his eyebrows. Fenris frowned in confusion, slow to grasp what the man was talking about.

The Seneschal nodded. "Resolve any outstanding business. You will be very busy...Guard Captain Vallen."


	14. Culture Clash

" _Suppose we were able to share meanings freely without a compulsive urge to impose our view or conform to those of others and without distortion and self-deception. Would this not constitute a real revolution in culture?"_

**-David Bohm**

* * *

"I'm not so sure I want to get involved with the Qunari again, Varric..." Hawke said, keeping her voice low. They were sitting at a table in Varric's suite at the Hanged Man, going over some paperwork Bartrand had thrown at him earlier. There was little chance of them being overheard, but she still spoke quietly. "You can't deal reasonably with religious fanatics. Not really. I don't like dealing with Templars for the same reason."

"No one likes dealing with Qunari or Templars, Hawke. But first, we won't be dealing with them directly, Javaris will be the proxy; second, it could pay very well and we only need a bit more before we have enough to get the Expedition on its feet; and third, these Tal-Vashoth Javaris wants dead have been plaguing the roads on the coastline. Avaline will probably end up asking for your help with them anyway and you never turn her down."

Hawke sighed. "Am I that predictable?"

"When it comes to helping your friends, yes. Not an insult, Hawke, just saying."

She looked down, turning an object over and over between her fingers, as she had been the entire time they had been here. She was feeling a little raw. In truth, they all were, Varric included. He was currently trying to find out all he knew about the Chantry woman known as Sister Petrice.

The bitch.

_Hawke had come stumbling into the Hanged Man the night before just as Varric was finishing up teaching Fenris how to play Diamondback. Unlike Merrill, the Tevinter elf picked up on the games with almost uncanny quickness, saying he'd seen similar games in the Imperium._

_A storm had kicked up, so when the door of the tavern banged open, no one even took much notice of it. It was only when Thrask had looked up and gasped that Varric had turned to see the figures coming in through the door. Isabela, her face unusually grim, stalked straight across the room toward the bar as Varric pushed himself to his feet, eyes widening as he got a good look at Hawke and Bethany. Anders came in behind them, looking exhausted. "Andraste's tits, what happened?"_

" _She's an_ idiot _, that's what happened," Isabela spat, gesturing furiously at Hawke. She turned back toward the bar swiftly but not before Varric had seen what was behind her anger: the unshakable pirate scourge was shaken._

_But it was nothing compared to Hawke. Her face was sheet white, her eyes glassy with shock. Bethany, also pale and shaken, had both her arms wrapped around one of her sister's and he wasn't sure which one of them was supporting the other. In all the time he'd known Hawke, Varric had never seen her composure so rocked, not even after the close call with the templars the night they had met Anders. Her even-headed ability to take things in stride was one of the things that made him so sure she would be an asset to the expedition; seeing her like this scared the shit out of him._

_The sisters had moved to the table and sat down. Bethany kept looking at her sister, folding hands that were visibly trembling on the table. Anders sat down beside her, gently laying a hand over hers, which seemed to help her. Hawke was silent, one hand wrapped around some kind of object on a leather cord. Even Fenris, who had a strange knack for getting Hawke to talk about nearly anything (and vice versa), couldn't get anything out of her. It was Bethany who had haltingly managed to get the story out._

_They had just wanted to help. From the very start. They'd seen a Chantry sister go into an alley with a couple of thugs and had assumed she was a newcomer out of her league. They'd gone after her and sure enough, it had been an ambush. They'd gotten her out of there and back to her 'safehouse'- and her templar guardian -not far from their own home. It was there she had given them the most unusual proposition._

_That was when she had introduced them to Ketojan._

_Even though Hawke had known the Qunari treated their mages like dangerous beasts- enough Theta disapproved of that treatment severely -she'd had no idea the extent they went to control them. Ketojan couldn't confirm or deny anything Petrice said: his mouth had been sewn shut._

_Peace, Patrice said, began with appeasement. Ketojan needed to be set free. Like her friend was. Like Theta._

_She'd mentioned Theta. By name. Upon retrospect, the fact she had brought the artisan up so easily should have been a sign something was off. While there were many in Lowtown who knew and traded with Theta without missing a beat, it was another matter entirely when you got to Hightown. There were Hightown people and even Chantry members who traded with Theta or bought her wares, but there were few of them who would admit it, especially these days. It had, however, struck a chord in Hawke. And Bethany, horrified by what had been done to the kossith mage, had been more than willing to help. She'd gone and asked Anders to help, maybe they could figure out a way for Ketojan to escape via the Mage Underground- the network he was slowly building to help mages escape -once they got him out of Kirkwall. She'd met Isabela along the way, who had joined them, curious. It was a good thing she had._

_He was a bit conspicuous, so getting him out through the Undercity...which they all knew almost as well as the upper city by this time...had seemed the best choice. It had gone smoothly at first, only a few spiders here and there to give them trouble, nothing they couldn't handle. Ketojan had simply followed, not participating...until the thugs._

_They were the same kind of scum that you would meet anywhere in Lowtown and Darktown, throwing the same kind of bitter threats around. There weren't enough of them to be a worry, but the second one of them had threatened Hawke, Ketojan had stirred. And when the leader had tried to attack her, the mage had unleashed his magic on them, taking them all out with an attack so precise and powerful it took Bethany's breath away. The frightened and disoriented thugs had attacked, but with Ketojan backing them up, it was a lost cause. The ones that lived had fled into the dark, burned by flames the qunari had seemed able to wield like an extension of himself._

_Bethany had wrapped her hands around the mug of tea Corff had brought her. He'd set a mug of the strong black Ferelden tea Hawke liked so much in front of her, but she had not touched it. She sat in her chair, one leg tucked beneath her, turning that strange talisman over and over in her hands, her eyes fixed on it. The Ring of Whispers, the strange claw that had belonged to her father, was on the middle finger of her right hand and she kept tapping the slim claw against the stone of the talisman._

" _It was a set up," Bethany said, her voice flat. "There were Qunari waiting for us. For him. We weren't supposed to survive it. They accused us...they said they had followed a trail of bodies to that point. Leading to us. Didn't seem to care that we couldn't have left it if we came from the other way. He kept calling Ketojan something..."_

" _Saarebas," Fenris said. "Literally 'dangerous thing'. A mage. All their mages submit to that. In an effort to control themselves."_

" _We didn't know that," Bethany whispered. "We thought we were still helping him. We didn't really understand...well, anything the leader kept saying. We didn't want to turn him over if they were going to do something like that."_

" _I was fine with it," Isabela growled. "I told you two they were going to attack if we didn't hand him over."_

" _They would have attacked anyway," Fenris said. "Especially if they found out Bethany was a mage. You were corrupted, the same way this Ketojan was. Left without a handler, out of control, they couldn't allow him to live. Or you. Lest you contaminate everyone else." His gaze shifted to Anders for a moment. "Corrupt others with demons that might have attached themselves to you. It is the will of the Qun."_

_Hawke closed her eyes. Isabela just scowled into her cup._

" _They bound him and then attacked. I thought we were going to die. There were so many of them. We would have except..." She stopped herself, glancing at Anders, and bit her lip. Varric knew why, just as he knew how they had survived the attack. Anders had brought Justice forth. "Well, we survived it..." Bethany finally said._

" _What happened to the mage?" Thrask had asked, looking deeply troubled._

" _When the leader was killed, he was able to speak. He said...he called Alessa something..."_

_Hawke spoke for the first time, her voice dull. "Basvaarad."_

" _Worthy of following," Fenris said quietly._

" _He thanked us for our intent but he said it was wrong," Bethany said. "Alessa tried to talk to him, to understand, but he kept saying he had to live by the Qun. He gave her something and then he...he killed himself. He set himself on fire."_

_There was silence all around. Thrask finally spoke, his voice hesitant. "But...what makes you think the Sister knew about any of that, Bethany?"_

_Bethany looked him straight in the eye. "Because she told us, Ser Thrask. Didn't even try to deny it. She hoped she could use our deaths to turn the Chantry against the Qunari. She almost gloated about it."_

" _Surely not..." Now Thrask looked as shaken as they were. "Even if...but she wouldn't gloat about it in front of witnesses like that if it were true..."_

" _Why not? Who amongst the Templars, the Chantry...in all of Hightown...would take our word over hers?" Hawke said quietly._

_No one. Everybody in the room knew it, even Thrask._

_Hawke had pulled a handful of coins out and pushed them across the table to Varric. Seven sovereigns, a goodly sum. "Take it. Put it toward the expedition or split it up between everyone or throw it in the sea for all I care. I don't want it." She'd pushed herself shakily out of her chair, still clutching the talisman Ketojan had given her to her chest. "He didn't scream," she said suddenly to no one in particular, a strange look on her face. "He burned himself alive and he never made a sound..."_

She'd played Hawke like a violin, and Hawke wasn't easy to play. The woman had set her up to be killed. Varric didn't believe for a second that Petrice being there at that exact place at that exact time was a coincidence. She had chosen Hawke specifically and had somehow known exactly what buttons to push. It was one of the reasons Varric was so willing to risk a deal with Jaravis. Killing off Tal-Vashoth that were for sure a danger to innocents along the coast would do Hawke a world of good, give her some ground beneath her feet again.

One good thing about this was Fenris had come to him and accepted the offer to head into the Deep Roads. They needed a strong blade to protect them, he said. Varric fully agreed; the elf was a better fighter than ten of Bartrand's best thugs combined. Although he suspected Fenris's reasons for coming along had more to do with _Hawke_ needing a strong blade to protect her. But since that would mean everyone was getting protected by that blade and the neat tricks the elf could pull with those markings of his, Varric wasn't going to be picky about his reasons.

Hawke studied her copy of the note Jaravis Tintop had sent both of them after they'd saved him a few days earlier. "Isn't this the guy your _brother_ called a slimy bastard?"

"Javaris? Oh, yes."

Hawke looked doubtful. "Do we really want to put this explosive powder in his hands?"

Varric shrugged. "I don't know why he's all fired up to get it anyway. Making explosive stuff isn't hard. _You_ make explosive stuff."

"Point. I wonder how the Qunari go about it." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Oh, Andraste's tits, she'd be blowing up half of Lowtown in the next few weeks. He just hoped they wouldn't trace the idea back to him. "How do they think the dwarves got all those buildings into the walls down in Orzammar? Hammer and chisel?"

That got him a smile. "They usually use lyrium based powder, though, don't they?"

"It's still more than likely he wants it because no one else besides the Qunari have it. He's not part of the Merchant Guild, Hawke. He wants to be able to get a deal that no one else has managed before so he can shove it into our faces."

"More specifically, let me guess, he wants to be able to shove it into _Bartrand's_ face."

"Look at her go, folks, in a few more years, she'll be ready for a seat in the Guild herself!"

Hawke rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "All right...if anything we'll clear the coast, yes?"

"That's the spirit. And at best, we'll be able to get some good coin and possibly make Jaravis look like a jackass on top of it."

* * *

When life shook her up, Hawke had always taken comfort in falling back onto intellect. She had taken to spending an hour or so at the library since it had been set up and had become more friendly with the group from Orlais. Zek in particular was always up for a lively debate...or outright argument. The possibilities of recreating something like the Qunari's explosive powder also gave her something to work over in her mind and she reminded herself to toss the possibility at Haze and Zek the next time she visited.

At the moment, however, she had the more pleasant task of annoying Javaris.

Unlike Bartrand, Hawke had complete faith in Varric's observations of people. So when he told her Javaris was a posturing idiot, she had not doubted him for a moment. It was well she didn't, because Varric was- as usual -absolutely right. The dwarf was a puffed up weasel of a man. He also liked using big words, often incorrectly, because they sounded grand, which was a particular pet peeve of hers.

Jaravis had gotten it into his head that if he hired someone to kill off Tal-Vashoth along the coast, it would impress the Arishok enough he'd be willing to bargain with the explosive powder. Gaatlok _,_ it was called.

They had battled a few of said Tal-Vashoth already, but this time around they were headed to their base to rid the coast of most, if not all, of them. Balancing that out was the fact that they had a veritable army with them this time around. Fenris had simply appeared outside of the Hanged Man before they could even ask him; Aveline had confirmed she was planning on asking Hawke and Varric to help out with that problem and came along to help; Bethany was determined to help despite their mother's protests and Anders had shown up with her; and Merrill had also decided to come along and lend her magic to the cause. Fenris had not been pleased to have three mages, two of which he clearly didn't trust, along but had grudgingly not been able to deny the fact they had all been helpful in fights before. Isabela had been the only one to refuse, stating flat out she wanted nothing to do with the Qunari with a tone Hawke had been unable to identify. In anyone else, she would have called it nervousness.

Even with all their combined skills, it was a hard battle. Fenris was an asset, as usual, having been forced to fight Qunari on numerous occasions by his former master. With his advice, they knew what the weak points in the Tal-Vashoth's fighting to exploit. It still brought them down to their last breath. Hawke's heart had nearly stopped in her chest when one of them had almost run Bethany through. Anders had hauled her out of the way right in time so the blow took her in the side, killing the kossith that had done it and healing her almost within the space of a minute. He, Alessa thought, needed to stay out of a fight for a few days because he was definitely looking thinner and more tired than usual. Obviously he was pushing himself too hard.

All of her tricks, all of their potions, and nearly all of their energy, but they managed it without losing anyone. They were later than Javaris had wanted because they had needed to rest and make rounds to treat injuries...thank the Maker she'd stocked up on her supplies before coming.

Javaris was waiting outside the Qunari compound, tapping his foot as they approached. The area had grown since Alessa had last seen it. She squinted at the doors built to cut it off from the rest of the Docks. It looked like they had taken the remains of their ship to build up the compound, she noted. They had dismantled and reused the wood from their ship instead of repairing it. She didn't think that was a good sign...

They were down to Varric, Hawke, Merrill, and Fenris by then. Bethany had gone to help Anders back to the clinic, too worried to let him go alone, and Aveline had gone back to the barracks to make her report. Not bad for Kirkwall's soon-to-be Guard-Captain, Hawke thought, still so proud of her she could burst. So much for Jeven's claims Aveline would be nothing without him.

"About time, I've been waiting here for hours," Javaris greeted them, irritated.

"No you haven't. If you'd been around that long, they would have killed you. If only to shut you up," Varric said. Hawke had to stifle a laugh. Varric got as blunt as a hammer when he was tired and pissed off.

Javaris glared at him and led the way into the compound. Hawke didn't want to be intimidated, she really didn't. But Theta was almost two feet taller than she was and some of these horned men would have towered over the artisan. Every single one of them looked like they could pick her up and break her in half.

"They are rather easy on the eyes, aren't they?" Merrill whispered to her. Fenris overheard and glanced back, brows furrowed in disbelief. He shook his head when Hawke shrugged and looked around. They _were_ all in rather good shape...

Javaris gave her a superior look as they waited for the Qunari leader. "The Arishok can be a bit of a bully...rather bludgeonating, really..."

"That's not a word."

"...but I know how to handle him."

"There's a dozen other words that actually exist that you can use, why are you making up a stupid one?"

Javaris was gritting his teeth by then. He hated being contradicted, especially when he was wrong. Reminded her of Bartrand. "Can we keep to the point please?"

Hawke was too happy for the distraction to care about the point. "I'm just saying you could even have used 'he's rather bludgeoning'. It would still be a bad use of a word but it would be bad use of an _actual_ word."

" _Shut. Up,_ " Javaris hissed as there was movement from the platform above. Varric seemed to be straining a lot of muscles to keep from laughing but he sobered as the Arishok arrived.

As did they all.

She'd thought the other qunari were intimidating and that had been her mistake. The Arishok was _huge_ \- he had to be nearly seven feet from toe to the top of his long horns -and built from solid muscle.

For the first time, Alessa tried to imagine Theta amongst these people, standing with the same kind of rigid formality and ceremony that filled the air as the Arishok seated himself. She couldn't do it. She couldn't envision Theta standing here without rolling her eyes and impatiently telling them to get on with it. That mental image threatened to make her smile, so she shook it away, looking from Javaris to the qunari leader.

"Arishokost. Maaras shokra. Anaan esaam Qun."

The Arishok turned, along with everyone else, to look at Fenris as he spoke up. Alessa blinked at him in surprise, for it was entirely out of character for Fenris to suddenly draw attention to himself. She didn't recognize the language he was speaking in, but the Arishok did, because he spoke with noticeable surprise, "The Qun from an elf? The madness of this...place." He spoke the last word with a similar tone to the one nobles used when speaking of Darktown, on the rare occasions they admitted that it existed. It implied words like 'vile' and 'disgusting'. The fact he seemed to be aiming that tone at Kirkwall as a whole was not a reassuring thought.

She caught Fenris's eye and cocked her head questioningly. "Friend of yours?"

Fenris shook his head soberly. "Friend of no one," he murmured.

Fenris could quote the Qun. It was entirely inappropriate and probably slightly perverted to get all tingly at this particular place and time but she couldn't help it. _If Fenris started preaching the Qun, they would get a whole lot more converts,_ she thought as Javaris cleared his throat, trying to get things back on track. Fenris's interruption had thrown off his pitch but he recovered with admirable quickness. "Yes, well, that being said, I'm here to report that your hated Tal-Vashoth were felled, one and all. Right?" He glanced back at them.

"Nicely oversimplified," Hawke muttered, rubbing the bandaged spot on her shoulder where an arrow had gotten her.

"Yes they were," Javaris continued on like she hadn't spoken. He leaned forward a bit, a greedy light in his eyes that had Hawke and Varric exchanging a glance. "So, I'm ready to open negotiations for the explosive powder, as we agreed."

There was a long moment of silence, then the Arishok spoke quietly, "No."

Simple and without a hint of drama, the single word echoed through the quiet compound. The Arishok said nothing more. Javaris stared without comprehension at the Qunari leader, blinking almost owlishly. He turned to Hawke. "He's not getting it. Make your chatty elf say something."

Alessa bristled on Fenris's behalf. "He has a _name_ ," she hissed.

"Just shut up and do it!" It was the nerves in his eyes that made Hawke pause. The sudden tension in the air made her skin tingle and she saw Varric straighten, shooting Javaris a look that promised very unpleasant things in the future. She felt, more than saw, Merrill shrink back a bit, looking around nervously. Alessa slipped a hand into her pocket, closing her fingers over the talisman there. She couldn't wear it, couldn't allow countless eyes to see it. She had no idea if it was magic branded into it that made her certain it wasn't supposed to be seen by the eyes of another but the fact the saarebas had given such a thing to her...

The incident with Ketojen had brought into clear focus how little Alessa was prepared to deal with the Qunari. What she knew from Theta was only second-hand knowledge; intellectually she had understood some of it, but she didn't really _understand_ them where it counted. Never in her life had the vast difference between reading or hearing and actually experiencing been so clear to her. She didn't understand how they thought. She couldn't even try and see things from their perspective because it made absolutely no sense to her. She suddenly felt small and foolish, surrounded on all sides by them with the one who was supposed to know what was going on turning to her for advice.

She looked to Fenris not because Javaris told her to but because he seemed to actually have an understanding she didn't. He must have seen it in her eyes or expression, because he shook his head, speaking quietly, "Qunari do not abandon a debt." He looked up. "I humbly request clarification from the Arishok."

Well, that seemed simple enough...

Hawke laid a reassuring hand on Merrill's arm. The Arishok studied Fenris for a moment. He seemed impressed, or as close to impressed as he got. "I have a growing lack of disgust for you." He leaned forward. "The dwarf imagined the deal for the gaatlok. He invented a task to prove his worth when he has none."

Hawke listened intently, looking between the Arishok and Fenris. It took her a moment before the words settled in and she sent Javaris a scorching look.

Fenris nodded. "Then we have wrongly inserted ourselves in your affairs. Would you have us kill this dwarf?" He gestured toward Javaris.

The dwarf's eyes went wide. "Wait...what now?"

"If you have faced Tal-Vashoth, he is not worthy of dying to you. As he was not worthy of dying to them," the Arishok said.

Hawke felt a bit more balanced now. The Arishok seemed more like a logical person rather than some kind of incomprehensible force. That didn't mean she was completely at ease when he looked at her. "But you...you keep good company. Let him live. And leave."

"But...he has to sell! It's a product! People want it!" Javaris protested.

Alessa barely managed to resist the urge to slap him upside the head. "I do believe he just proved he doesn't have to do anything," she said quietly in a tight voice.

"There is no profit in empowering those not of the Qun," the Arishok said calmly. "The means of creating the gaatlok is ours alone." He paused for a moment, then said pointedly. "It shall be dispensed only to our enemies...in the traditional manner."

 _Learn to read a damn situation, you moron,_ Hawke thought at Javaris.

The dwarf was furious, that much was obvious, but he also wasn't stupid. "You...are a frustrating people!" he spat.

Okay, not _completely_ stupid...

He scowled at her, starting to turn away. "And you're fired!"

 _Oh no, you don't._ She narrowed her eyes. "Slow your roll there, dwarf."

Varric stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "You aren't slinking off just yet. Just because _you_ were stupid enough to invent a deal where there wasn't one doesn't me we were."

" _We_ had a legitimate deal," Hawke said, crossing her arms.

The Arishok overheard them and leaned forward again, frowning. "Dwarf, did your imaginary bargain make promises on my behalf?"

Hawke exchanged another look with Varric, silently agreeing not to push the Arishok. They'd let Javaris walk for now and shake it out of him later. Javaris's eyes flicked from side to side and he licked his lips nervously. "I...expected your wisdom to be more profitable."

Wrong answer. The Arishok was silent for a long moment, looking down and appearing to go into contemplation, but some kind of signal only noticed by his warriors had the ones around him standing at attention, a couple of them pulling their weapons. The Arishok looked up again, standing slowly, his voice a low rumble that allowed for no refusal. "Then you will pay on my behalf."

A braver man than Javaris would have quailed at the sound of that voice. He was clearly fighting the urge to cower. He huffed and turned to Varric, thrusting a coin pouch at him. "Sod it all, take your coin. Take whatever!" A four year old would have been proud to throw a tantrum the likes of which he did as he stomped away. "Hard headed oxmen and mongrel dog lords, suck on your powder and blow yer head off. Sod it!"

Varric rolled his eyes and pocketed the coin.

"You will leave as well, human." Alessa turned to find the Arishok studying her with a look she wasn't able to interpret. "There is no more coin for you here." He sat down slowly and she realized he had not missed her hand going into her pocket. She had been so wrapped up, it had not occurred to her until this point that Ketojan and his keepers had all been the Arishok's men. She wondered if he had found them. Remembering what Saemus Dumar had said about his qunari friend's body, she wondered if he cared.

Her fingers closed over the talisman again. She lifted her eyes to meet the Arishok's dark ones. "I killed some of your men."

She heard Merrill suck in a breath and saw Varric stiffen. The Arishok, however, said nothing, he simply studied her.

"Except for the saarabas. He killed himself." Hawke felt a sense of assurance settle over her, understanding without a moment of doubt that this man didn't want to hear excuses or fumbling explanations. Being straight-forward with him was the way to go, she could understand that. Even if she understood nothing else about him. She shrugged, turning to go. "I figured you had a right to know."

The Arishok waited until she was walking away before he spoke again, just loud enough for her to hear, "Your inevitable death holds great promise."

She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. He had risen from his seat, watching them go. "I look forward to it. As should you."

For a moment, she simply stood, studying him with the same measuring look as he was giving her. Then she turned and left the compound, her friends falling into step beside her.

* * *

Night had fallen over the Kirkwall Chantry. Deep beneath it, Sister Petrice paced back and forth in one of many hidden rooms that went deep beneath the city, passages to it opening everywhere. A soul could wander through them for a lifetime and not map every single one.

The room was bare, with only a rickety wooden table on which she had placed the lantern. It flickered as she paced, making shadows dance on the stone walls.

She turned the moment someone opened the door, unleashing the fury that she had held in check for the past couple of days. "She survived!"

The figure calmly closed the door. "I told you not to choose her."

Of course, which is one of the reasons she'd decided on the little bitch. She didn't anyone thinking they could order her around, not even here. Despite that, she found herself speaking defensively: "She's led two fights inside the chantry itself. You know as well as I do she was behind the deaths of all those templars. She was perfect!"

"Sister." Maker, she hated that calm, patient tone. Like she was a child. And she always had the idea she was being mocked with every word.. "If you wish to bring about the changes the Chantry needs, you must learn how to judge your opponents. You focused entirely on what she has done without taking in the skill or the allies she has."

"She is _not_ an opponent. She's nobody! That was the point!" She felt a tremor of unease as those words found their mark. She had misjudged the girl. She hadn't considered for a moment she would survive until she came stalking in through the door.

Teeth flashed white and gleaming in the lamplight. "You forget that I know her, sister. It is very possible that girl will be your worst enemy."


	15. The Beast in the Night

" _The more I see of men, the more I like dogs."_

**-Clara Bow**

* * *

Merrill sat cross-legged on the floor of her house, carefully lining up shards of glass in front of her. The glass had an odd, dark sheen that Merrill admitted was disturbing to look at before you got used to it. It distorted your reflection of you looked into it and made you dizzy if you peered in too long. Merrill had been surprised how spooked Hawke was by it, refusing to come near it even to talk, staying across the room even after Merrill assured her she had cleansed the Taint from it before bringing the mirror pieces in.

She needed to finish fixing the base and frame before she could set the mirror properly. The pace was maddening, but she forced herself to be careful. After all the risks she had taken, she needed to repair it to absolute perfection. Prove that it was worth the effort.

It had to be. Despite what Hawke said.

_I just...I think you're taking a lot of risks without getting all the facts of the matter straight, Merrill. I don't understand how one object could be so important._

Hawke was clever and kind and Merrill liked her a lot, but she was also human; she couldn't understand. Hawke could look back into her people's history with a glance, could walk freely through lands without question from anyone. Kingdoms made up of her people stretched far as the eye could see. She didn't know what it was like to know what her people had been once so long ago and watch even the hints of that glory slip away with every passing year.

_She saw it all again...the tall white spires of the elven cities glittering in the sunlight. Restored. The elves standing together once again in their own real kingdom, no longer having to carve out a niche within the realms of humans. Meeting the humans with their magic and ancient strength. As equals._

Wasn't just the possibility of bringing that back- even if this mirror was only a step in that direction -wasn't that worth risk? Even sacrifice?

A cry from outside made her stir from her thoughts. Merrill blinked over her shoulder and climbed to her feet, padding to the window of her home and peering out into the darkened plaza of the Alienage. It had sounded like a woman's voice...

The Vhenadahl stood lit by the candles set around it, but she could make out little else. She started to turn away when another cry pierced the night. This time it was followed by a man's yell and a snarl that chilled Merrill's blood. It sounded like an animal. A _large_ one. She saw an elven woman run past the Vhenadahl and into an alley. Thundering footsteps came a moment later and the large shape of a man bellowed past, pursued by a dark form Merrill couldn't see clearly except it was big. The sounds faded away. The elven woman came out of the alley slowly, peering in the direction the man and whatever had attacked him had gone. She was holding the torn shoulder of her dress against her, her eyes wide. She glanced over and caught sight of Merrill in the window, freezing for a moment, before she hurried away.

* * *

_Two days later..._

Bethany didn't even try to hide her glare as the man walked past her out of the clinic. He made an attempt to stare her down haughtily but in the end he dropped his gaze and shoved past her where a tall, well armed man was waiting for him at the door. They were both dressed plainly but their demeanor, the way they held themselves, like they were afraid if they stood still too long they would get infected by something, screamed 'Hightown'. Bethany was young, but she knew perfectly well why someone well to do would come down to Anders's clinic in Darktown to get healed instead of a chantry house or a well known physician. For the same reason the Seneschal did: there was too much of a risk that someone would talk.

Bethany moved to the doorway and watched the pair vanish into the night. Anders came up behind her, wiping his hands off on a cloth. Bethany glanced over at him and frowned. He'd been pushing himself too hard again, she could tell. She fetched a mug and filled it with warm water. There was always plenty of it around the clinic, she and Rhea kept several kettles over the fire and on the hearth. She added a packet of herbs, stirring it until they dissolved and the water took on a dark green shade. Anders had stepped outside and was sitting on the front steps the clinic, looking out into the night. She sat beside him and handed him the mug, watching him sternly until he obligingly started to drink, grimacing at the taste. "If you promise to start watching yourself, I'll add something next time that makes it taste a bit better."

Anders gave her a narrow look. "You learned that from your sister. I know you did."

"It's annoying, but effective."

Anders grunted and looked away, the mug near his mouth not quite hiding the smile that tugged at his lips. "Let me guess, she used it to bribe you when you were kids."

"She used it to bribe everyone in the family and she was really good at hiding whatever recipe she learned that makes it taste okay."

Anders snorted. "And I thought Varric was the one with the bribery skills."

"Well, we've all learned to hone them under his tutelage," she said primly. She leaned back a bit, slanting a look at him. "She's been kind of subdued lately...since you spoke with her."

Anders drained the last of the brew and didn't answer, rising to bring the mug back inside. Bethany followed him in. "Not quite as overbearing, you see. She even took my side against Mother when she wanted me to stay home from a job the other day. You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?" she persisted.

The other mage smirked, rinsing out the mug. "I might have mentioned that she didn't need to keep so close an eye on you." He sobered, turning to look at her. "And more to the point, she won't always be around to protect you, no matter what she thinks."

"Thank you..."

He moved forward, laying a hand on her shoulder. "You're a smart, talented woman, Bethany. As skilled as your sister. More so, in some ways. She just needed to be reminded of it."

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his for a long moment. Logically, her mind told her she needed to back away. But she didn't seem able to move, pinned by his gaze.

Anders reached up with his other hand, his fingers brushing her cheek lightly, his expression a mixture of surprise and wonder, like he wasn't quite sure what he was doing.

A scream shattered the air, making them both jerk back in shock. Anders grabbed his staff and headed for the door of the clinic, peering out into the night. Bethany peered around him through the door. A man came staggering toward the clinic, looking dazed, clutching a hand to his shoulder. Bethany moved around Anders, trusting him to watch her back, and ran to the man, holding him up as he stumbled and leading him to the clinic. "What happened?"

The man looked dazed. "Was stupid...took a shortcut through an alley. Got jumped...stabbed in the shoulder. Grabbed my coin and started to slit my throat..."

That was apparent, there was a small, but deep cut on one side of his throat.

The man winced as Bethany pried his hand away from his shoulder to look at the wound, pulling his shirt down over his arm so she could clean it. Anders came up, looking grim. "You're lucky you got away in time."

The man shook his head, looking at the healer with wide eyes. "I didn't...something came out of the alley when I yelled. A...a beast. It jumped on him...I think he's dead."

Anders exchanged a look with Bethany and motioned. "Take care of him, I'll check."

"Anders," she protested, worried.

"I'll be all right, I'm not too tired to defend myself." Anders didn't wait for an answer, striding out of the clinic.

Bethany turned back to the man, working on healing the shoulder wound and the one on his neck. It had the side benefit of distracting her. She was just finishing up the shoulder wound, the skin now pink and fragile, but healed, and was telling the man to be careful not to reopen it the next couple of days, when Anders came back in. The mage nodded slowly. "He's right. There's a body in the alley and his throat was torn out."

"By what?" Bethany whispered. "Something from the sewers."

"I don't think so." He checked the man over and helped him up. "Come on. We'll walk you home, ser. Then we'll go talk to Hawke."

* * *

_A week later..._

"It just figures they only get all up in arms about something prowling around the city when someone in Hightown gets attacked," Zek muttered.

"No one in Lowtown reported it," Aveline retorted. She was standing beside the rickety table Hawke was seated at. Haze was standing on the other side of it, looking over the list of attacks.

Aveline was hitting a wall. The only thing they could decide about what was terrorizing the city was that it was some kind of animal. Since the last attack had been in Hightown, there had been demands from the Viscount's office to get to the bottom of it, putting pressure on the City Guard. With the Knight Commander starting to make noises about it being an abomination, Aveline wanted it solved before things got out of hand. She had come to the library to bounce ideas off of Hawke and the University scholars. "All I need to know is what you think it might be."

"It can't be a wolf, none of these descriptions match," Haze said.

"Not to mention a wolf wouldn't be so specific in who it attacks." Zek was pinning a dead moth onto a board lined with carefully placed and labeled insect specimens. He glanced up at Aveline. "I notice with all the noise made over the latest attacks, no one is asking anymore questions as to what that guardsman was doing in the Alienage at night," he said pointedly.

"He said he was investigating a suspicious noise," Aveline said shortly.

"Sure he was."

"No one has complained, elf, and unless you have evidence he was actually up to something, wipe the bloody sneer off your face. I can't go throwing my guardsmen behind bars for something someone _thinks_ they _might_ have done."

Zek muttered something impolite in Orlesian under his breath and went back to his insects. Hawke caught Aveline's eye for a moment but said nothing. She knew Aveline kept a close eye on that particular guardsmen and knew she had her suspicions about what he had probably gone there for. They also both knew that no elf would report an attack to the City Guard because they had no faith in them. With good reason. Even if they made an arrest, the odds that the attacker would walk free were very good, especially if he had connections.

Hawke turned her gaze back down to the map she had been studying for the past few minutes, circling the spots where the attacks had occurred in an attempt to see if there was some kind of pattern. Haze put down his list and leaned over the map as well, shaking his head. "I ran this by a couple of hunters and trackers I know. This isn't something coming out of a den and hunting or else we would be able to track down where the den was. There just doesn't seem to be any reason for an animal to attack in such a random way. Unless it was mad."

"Or unless it's not random..." Hawke said, picking up the discarded list and spreading it out. She ran a finger down each mark. Seven attacks in two weeks since the first one in the Alienage. "Maybe there's some kind of similarities in the attacks themselves instead of where they were."

"What do you mean?" Aveline drifted closer.

"Hawke?"

They all looked up at that timid voice to find Merrill standing in the doorway. The elf woman drifted closer, hesitating. Hawke pushed away from the table and moved toward her. "Evening, Merrill."

"I wanted to tell you...I guess I should have said something before, but..." Merrill hesitated, then described what she had seen in the Alienage that night.

Zek abandoned his insects for a moment, coming forward. He shot Aveline a truly superior look which she ignored. Before she could speak, Zek piped up, sounding intrigued. "But the woman he attacked wasn't hurt? I mean, the animal didn't go after her?"

"Not that I saw, no..." Merrill said. "I would have asked her about it, but the people in the Alienage...well, they don't really like the Dalish..."

Hawke slid an arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently, and Zek nodded. "A lot of the Dalish hold themselves above elves in the cities. They aren't all as nice as you."

Merrill nodded, looking subdued.

Haze snatched the list of attacks up again, scanning them. "You don't think..."

Hawke and Aveline turned toward him. The dwarf was holding the list in one hand, tapping the tabletop with the other. "In the Alienage, a man was attacked while _he_ was attacking a woman."

Aveline started to protest there was no proof but couldn't make herself. Merrill wouldn't have lied about that. The problem was, there was little she could do unless the elf woman was willing to come forward and accuse him.

But she wasn't going forget.

"There _is_ a pattern, Hawke! Look at this: three times it was a robbery and the thief was attacked, like the one outside of Anders's clinic, the only one who was actually killed; twice it was attempted rape, now that we can add the Alienage attack in; and the man in Hightown was 'disciplining' a servant in his yard when he was attacked. An animal would perceive that as an attack."

"But the second attack was a man...ah...having a few moments with a prostitute he'd hired," Aveline pointed out, her brows furrowed.

"Outside in an alley," Zek said gleefully. "Again, an animal might not have taken note of the fact it was willing, especially if the customer was being rough."

"Zek!" That came from Sil across the room. The dwarf woman scowled at him and the elf shrugged, unrepentant. Merrill was bright red.

Aveline just shook her head. "But what kind of animal would..."

The idea struck her and she looked up to meet Hawke's eyes, seeing the same glimmer of comprehension there. They were the only two humans present who came from Ferelden. They knew an animal that might be inclined to attack someone who was harming another person.

Could it really be?

Hawke leaned back against the table, studying the newly appointed Guard Captain. "Aveline...I think I have a plan that might just kill two birds with one stone. So to speak."

* * *

"Do you really think he'll be stupid enough to try this so soon?" Varric whispered. He and Hawke were crouched in the space between two houses in the Alienage. (It was, in fact, the same one the two unfortunate Coterie members had been hiding the night they met Fenris.)

"A few elf women were willing to talk to me about it. He's not the only man who comes to the Alienage in search of easy prey, but he's one of the most common. He does it almost compulsively, one of them said. If Aveline played it right, he'll feel arrogant enough to try it again..."

Merrill, sans her staff, came walking out of an alley trying to look idle and nervous, which wasn't hard for her. She cast a nervous glance toward them and looked away quickly, remembering she wasn't supposed to give any indication they were there. After a moment, she disappeared back into the alley. It took about an hour and a couple more wanderings more before Hawke stiffened, hearing the gate creak open.

Sure enough, it was the guardsman. Hawke couldn't remember his name and didn't care to try. He glanced around furtively, a terrible sort of gleam in his eyes, and swiftly headed for the alley Merrill had just disappeared into again. Hawke rose and shadowed him, silent, and heard the soft click as Varric cocked Bianca.

She reached the alley right as she heard a cry and rushed in, drawing a dagger with a loud swish of metal against leather. The man had hold of Merrill, his ham sized fists wrapped around her slender wrists so tightly, Hawke could almost hear the delicate bones grind together. Her eyes narrowed and she stalked forward. "Let her go."

The man turned, startled, and his gaze raked her up and down. As she and Varric had suspected, he relaxed the second he took in the fact she was a small, young woman. He seemed to prefer preying on elven women, but she doubted he would be picky in his case. He smirked at her. "You know, I could arrest you for skulking around the Alienage at night," he said, his voice mocking.

"Let. Her. Go." Hawke spaced out each word threateningly, twisting her wrist so the dim light flashed off her dagger.

The man frowned and let go of Merrill, turning fully toward Hawke. "Why don't you just put that dagger down," he said, his voice low and menacing, "and I'll let you walk away and pretend you never saw any of this."

"You bastard." A hint of rage broke Hawke's calm. "You think you have a right to come here and hurt whatever woman you want and no one will step up to stop you? I am. So is Aveline. You think it's a coincidence she put you back on patrol here so soon?"

That stopped him, a hint of doubt and fear crossing his face before his expression hardened again. "You're a little lying bitch."

He reached out and seized hold of her, swinging her around and throwing her against the wall. Hawke let him, angling herself so her head wouldn't crack against the brick. Merrill had backed away, green eyes wide. Hawke saw her take a step forward, concern and anger in her eyes as her hands clenched. She shook her head and Merrill remembered her part, forcing herself not to intervene. The guardsman pointed at the elf. "You stay right there, I'll get to you in a min..." He trailed off, going pale as a growl came from right behind Merrill. He backed away from Hawke, starting to turn and stumble toward the alley entrance that would take him back out into the plaza, but found his way blocked by Varric, who had his crossbow leveled right at him.

Merrill stared as the beast stepped up, placing itself right behind Hawke. It wasn't a wolf. It was the biggest dog she had ever seen, easily twice as big as any dog around Kirkwall, it's legs and neck heavy and powerfully built. A mabari war hound, she knew. She'd seen some of them around Ferelden. One of their great, prized hounds. It snarled at the guardsman.

"K-keep that thing away from me!" Pale as a sheet, sword drawn, the guardsman started to back away and paused, remembering Varric. He looked like a rat in a trap.

Hawke turned and looked at the dog with a wondering expression. Part of her hadn't really believed it was actually one of the great hounds of her homeland, except it simply could not have been anything else. It wasn't attacking, though. In fact as she looked at it, it pricked its ears and looked up at her.

What might have happened next, no one was sure. The guardsman decided his own fate by lunging at Hawke, jabbing his sword at her. She managed to twist away in time to stop it from running her through but she gasped as she felt it carve a shallow slice into her waist.

The hound launched itself at the guardsman with a snarl that almost shook the alley. The man didn't have time to bring his sword up before over a hundred pounds of pure bred mabari war hound smashed into him, bringing him to the ground with a crash. He brought his arm up in an attempt to push it back and the hound simply closed its powerful jaws over his arm right above his gauntlets, the crunch of bone filling the alley. He screamed, wrenching his arm free and giving the hound the opportunity it needed, darting forward and sinking its teeth into his throat. His scream died into a gurgle as the hound tore it out.

For a moment, Hawke, Varric, and Merrill could only stare, stunned, as the hound backed away from the body and back to Hawke's side.

"Well, shit..." Varric whispered, awed.

"What should we do?" Merrill squeaked. "Hawke? What should we do?"

"Please don't kill him."

The voice came from behind Varric. Several elves had gathered behind him in the plaza. The one speaking was a young woman. Merrill recognized her as the woman who had been attacked the first time around. She stood, her hands twisted together in front of her. "Please don't kill him. He's been keeping a watch over everyone in the area...patrolling around...he's been protecting us...please..."

Hawke looked down at the mabari, who had placed himself between her and the body. He looked up at her with large brown eyes and wagged his stubby tail. She reached out a hand toward him and let him sniff it. The hound's tail wagged a little more and he licked the back of her hand once. She looked up and Varric moved aside so she could see the elf. "I'll have to report to the Guard Captain about one of her men being killed. What will you say to them?" She placed a hand on the hound's head.

The elf's eyes met hers for a long moment and a smile of fierce satisfaction curved her lips. "There will be no one here to question outside, serrah. And if they knock on our doors, why we'll say the same thing _he_ told us to say. We didn't see or hear anything. Nothing at all. Who would believe us anyway?"

* * *

The next morning, Aveline knocked on the door of Gamlen's house. Leandra opened the door and hesitated when she saw her, and then stepped aside, letting her in.

The house was much cleaner and certainly smelled better than the last time she'd seen it. Gamlen himself was standing across the room, arms crossed over his chest and scowling. Bethany was sitting at the table, nibbling on a piece of toast and gazing at her meekly. Varric was also there, enjoying a morning pastry. There was nothing meek about the grin he shot her. Hawke was on the floor, or rather she assumed it was Hawke. She couldn't see much because most of the girl was buried beneath the dog sprawled across her lap. The dog lifted his head and stared at her, ears pricked, a low growl coming from his throat. Hawke patted him and wiggled out from beneath him. The hound let her, but kept his eyes on Aveline.

_Oh, dear..._ Aveline bit back a sigh.

"I think someone must have smuggled him in from Ferelden. We tried to take him to the docks and see if we could get him on a ship but he followed me home," Hawke said, looking decidedly sheepish. She crossed the room to the fireplace and the hound scrambled to his feet, trotting after her.

Varric chuckled. "Looks like love at first sight to me, wouldn't you say?"

"He only attacked bad people," Bethany piped up, reaching over and scratching the dog behind the ears, giving Aveline a somewhat defiant look.

"Sunshine's got a point."

"You know mabari, Aveline," Leandra said quietly. "You can see he's chosen Alessa. She can control him now. He already listens to her."

Aveline glanced at Hawke, who snapped her fingers and made the sign for him to lay down. Everyone in the King's Army had been taught the proper commands for a trained mabari. Sure enough, the hound immediately settled himself down, still looking up at Hawke.

Hawke was watching her anxiously and Aveline sighed again. "The rumors going around is that it was a rogue giant spider that managed to get out of the sewers. It's not that big a stretch, since they've been getting more and more aggressive over the past few years. It isn't the first time we've had trouble with one getting out into the population." She studied the hound. "I guess he has a sense of justice. Maybe you can help me train new recruits, eh, boy?"

The hound wagged his tail and barked.

"Have you picked out a name for him?" Aveline looked back at Hawke as everyone else in the room, except for Gamlen, relaxed.

Hawke looked over at Varric. "Well, kind of..."

Varric looked defensive. "All I said was he was a big moose of a dog, because he _is_!"

"And well, I kind of agreed he's a moose of a dog, and he heard it and..." Hawke hesitated.

Aveline blinked slowly. "What...Moose?"

The dog barked happily.

"You named a mabari war hound _'Moose'_?"

"That's what he started answering to!"

Aveline rubbed her forehead. "Well...there are worse names, I suppose. I have to get back to the barracks. Just...keep an eye on him, Hawke."

"I will, Aveline, I promise."

It wasn't until later that Donnic mentioned seeing Hawke and a dog taking a nightly stroll several times during his Lowtown patrol. He noted with curiosity the two of them always passed by the Alienage several times, almost like they were doing a patrol of their own.


	16. As in Dreams

_In the real world_

_As in dreams_

_Nothing is quite what it seems_

-Dean Koontz, _The Book of Counted Sorrows_  


* * *

"You're going to get a lot of shit from people for it, Serrah," Zek said soberly.

Aran Palla shook his head and made an impatient gesture with one huge, roughened hand, a determined look on his craggy face. "Don't give a damn about that. The boy has _talent_. More talent than I've ever seen in any apprentice before. I'm not about to let that go to waste. If the regular people won't teach him the kind of numbers he needs to know, I figured maybe you knew someone here that would. I can pay you the same fee I'd pay any tutor. More, if need be."

"That isn't necessary, though if you'd make a donation to helping the library it would be appreciated. I'm not really the best with numbers, but Haze knows about architecture."

He nodded to the dwarf, who was seated at a table with a schematic for some kind of dwarven machine spread out in front of him, though he was listening in with interest. He nodded in confirmation. "And Hawke knows numbers. Between the two of us, I think we can teach the boy whatever he needs."

"And Serrah Hawke won't care?"

Haze and Zek both started to chuckle, genuinely amused, even as Hawke spoke up from behind him. "Care about what?"

Palla turned to look at her as she walked up, setting her bag on one of the tables. Her hound padded up beside her. The old builder towered over her enough she nearly had to tilt her head all the way back to look him in the eye. Moose sat down, sniffing at him suspiciously at first before his stubby tail gave a few tentative wags, his sign that he considered him okay.

"Serrah Palla here has an apprentice he took on recently that's showing great talent. Take a look at this, Alessa." Zek handed her a handful of papers. She flipped through the simple but effective drawings on them.

"Impressive designs and most of them are viable too," Haze said. "As in, if you actually built them, they wouldn't collapse."

"I see that..."

"The boy knows his basic numbers but he needs a bit more teaching," Palla said. "He's got a good eye and he loves creating things but he needs to know the kind of math that you need to build. 'Specially if he wants to design things. I'm no good at teaching something that you can't show with your hands or I'd teach him myself."

"So why would I be against that?" Hawke handed the drawings back, looking back up at Palla, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"He's an elf, Hawke." Zek- who, unlike Palla, knew full well that wouldn't be a problem with her -was grinning with satisfaction, delighted at the idea.

Hawke nodded in understanding. "And the schools or tutors you would normally send an apprentice to won't teach him."

"Exactly so, Serrah Hawke. And I...I don't think that's right. I don't think I could well live with myself letting that much talent slip away. Things I've had to spend years teaching other apprentices comes as naturally to him as breathing. And he loves it, Serrah Hawke. I see that every time he shows me one of those designs or I teach him something new. He was born to do it."

"What is this young man's name?"

"Jaim."

Hawke smiled up at him. "It would be my pleasure, Serrah."

Palla looked gratified, but he still hesitated a bit. "You'll get flak for it, all of you. I already have for taking him on. Especially from people in Hightown. I've gotten notes and remarks that some people won't come to me for business anymore."

That was a shame for them, because Aran Palla was the best builder and handyman in the city and everyone knew it. The people in Lowtown, however, might grumble about it but they weren't so picky. Haze scoffed. "Right, I suppose we'll lose our many patrons up there in Hightown, which means we won't be able to afford anymore finery." He gestured around grandly. The library/museum was still made up of rickety, mismatched chairs and tables and bookshelves and a counter made out of boards. What money they made personally or on behalf of the library went into buying books and the shelves were actually starting to become full. Some of the Lowtown residents who could read were starting to come in regularly to sit at the tables and flip through books, or they could, for a copper, take them back to their homes. It was also being made known without fanfare, Hawke was certain Varric was helping with it, that there were people there that were more than happy to teach people how to read, free of charge, and more than a few were starting to trickle in for it. It was this that had brought Palla to their door, hoping they would teach Jaim when no one else would.

Hawke sobered a bit and looked at Haze. "We're preparing for Varric's expedition, though, I'll be gone for a bit."

"That's all right. You can make up problems and such for him to work on while you're gone and we'll teach him some of the other stuff. Walk around Kirkwall and measure and such. Might be a good idea to teach him about business while we're at it, I know a couple of dwarves that can give us some pointers there."

The conversation turned to how they were going to go about setting up lesson plans and when Jaim could come in to learn them. It didn't do their hearts any bad to see Palla leave later on with a great deal more bounce in his step than he'd had coming in. Zek poured a glass of water and sat down across from Hawke on the table, scratching her hound behind the ears absently. "So...you look like shit, Alessa."

She gave him a dry look. "With that kind of delicacy it's a wonder you're still single, Zek."

He just looked at her. Haze had set aside his schematics and come up to the table, looking at her with concern. Hawke looked down at her hands. She'd caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror earlier so she knew full well what they were talking about: the pallidness of her skin, the dark circles under her eyes... "I haven't been sleeping well, that's all." Which was true enough. The same evasion hadn't really fooled Varric, but Zek and Haze relaxed a bit.

"In that uncle of yours house, I'm surprised you can sleep at all," Haze snorted.

Hawke hesitated, her hands clenched with each other. Every instinct went against the question that danced on her tongue. She didn't talk about these things aloud, not to anyone. Even when she knew it was ridiculous that Zek or Haze would turn to the Templars and even Royce, the templar that had come with them- officially at least -to keep a watch on Zek, wouldn't have turned her over to Kirkwall's templars. It still went against her instincts to speak of it, years of paranoia not just for herself but for her family telling her not to. She'd gone back and forth about it over and over so it was with some surprise she found herself blurting the question out to Zek: "What do you know about...prophetic, I guess is the right word...dreams, Zek?"

The elven mage stiffened, his eyes going sharp. "Have you been having visions, Alessa?"

"I'm not a mage, you know that."

Zek made a dismissive gesture. "You know my views on that, Hawke. I'm the one that doesn't think the line between mages and other people is really that firmly drawn, remember?"

Exactly, which was a theory that fascinated her and had driven her to think he could help her with this. "I've had...I've always had dreams. They're not visions, exactly, but I've actually had dreams where I know I'm in the Fade, where I can _see_ the Fade. I've had them since I was a child."

"And you've been having those recently?" Zek leaned forward, his eyes bright with curiosity.

"No...I've never had one like this before. I keep switching between seeing through the eyes of someone else, I think, and seeing glimpses of him."

"Him?"

"It's a man. A boy, really...I think...I think he's in danger."

Zek sat back, frowning. "Alessa...if you've had them since childhood, I'm sure your father impressed on you how careful you have to be, yes?"

"Oh, yes. I know, Zek. I don't go messing around in the Fade and he gave me the same lessons on demons that he gave Bethany. So far, I've never drawn a demon to me, and I'm not entirely sure why."

"Let's hope you never have to, Alessa...I think you're strong willed enough to resist, but it's better to not test it if you don't have to." He tapped his fingers against the table. "I'll look into it for you. Talking about prophetic dreams and people who can see visions isn't something the Circles talk about to outsiders. The Chantry doesn't like it much and the templars certainly don't, as it falls firmly out of their control. Actually, your country has the most famous mage in recent history for it."

"Malaina Surana."

"Exactly so. And even she didn't go around speaking of whatever it was she saw to just anybody."

"If she had, no one would have listened to her anyway."

"Right."

"I asked Anders about her and he said she used a lyrium potion to explore her dreams but she also had a natural ability for it, though he doesn't like to talk about her."

"She's like the ultimate shade of grey, if you'll pardon the pun. I've heard rumors of the kinds of things she could do with blood magic and by all accounts, she was born with a natural affinity for it, which _really_ makes the Chantry nervous. The idea that blood magic is unnatural has been so ingrained in everyone they don't much like hearing that."

"I met her once, you know. Very briefly. At Ostagar the night before...well, you know. She helped me skin rabbits for the meal." Hawke was silent for a moment. "You know, I think she might have made a good queen, if that were possible."

"A half elf mage on the throne," Zek said, shaking his head, his lips twisting into an ironic smile. "The great beast of Society would never allow it, of course."

"Yeah..." Alessa ran a hand through her hair.

Zek went serious again. "I know it goes against your nature, Alessa, but don't try to explore these dreams until I can get some more information. Please?"

She nodded.

"And make sure to tell me if they start to change."

Hawke had to smile. "Going to turn me into a study, Zek?"

He gave her an innocent look and spoke the truth they both knew: "You'd do the same if our positions were reversed."

* * *

"I'm telling you, there's something odd about that half breed kid. We should just kill him."

Varian Ilithis kept his eyes on his ledger but tuned an ear to where a couple of his men were talking, looking over to where the slaves for the next transport were being held, tied down and sedated to keep them quiet. Normally, he would have given them a sound blow for even suggesting killing off a piece of merchandise, but he'd been thinking along those lines himself. The mage kid had seemed like a fine, easy catch, but even sedated, he was restless and the air had gone strange since he'd arrived. It set Varian's teeth on edge. Still, they'd kept him for this long. Another day and he wouldn't be their problem anymore.

* * *

On the straw he'd been tied up and thrown onto, Feynriel stirred.

_He'd often fled to his dreams when reality had seemed like too much before the nightmares had gotten so bad. Right now, even nightmares seemed better than reality. The problem was, he couldn't wake up. He stepped into a section of the Fade he'd never seen before, his vision blurred and heard the voices get louder. He saw shapes of demons taking form just out of the corner of his eye. Misery filled him and he shook his head helplessly. Nowhere to run and what was there to run back to even if he could wake up?_

" _Here."_

... _Maybe it was better to become an abomination and finally still those whispers, he'd probably manage to take most of the slavers out..._

" _Here."_

_...better that than...slavery. Feynriel's thoughts trailed off as that strong voice overcame the whispers again, something drawing him forward. He barely noticed the wall that was blocking him from following that voice, didn't notice the opening that appeared with a wave of his hand. Behind him, the whispers grew furious, but they were becoming fainter and fainter._

_Here, behind the wall, the Fade took on a less substantiative form. No walls or floors were visible unless he looked directly at a spot, then the odd shimmer of the Fade would solidify into a wall, or a tree, or something from his memory._

" _Here, child."_

_The Fade became even more chaotic as he walked on. He caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye, the light touched mist seeming to part for a minute, revealing a small figure he couldn't make out, though he knew instinctively it wasn't a demon. The mist seemed to whirl faster and faster as memories he slowly realized weren't his whirled_ around _him and_ through _him_ saturating _the very_ air _around him._

_...he (she?) was struck by a strong image of a young human boy smiling and extending a hand ("Are you all right? They didn't hurt you, did they?") toward him (her?), kindness in his eyes that he (she?) had not seen in anyone else's so far in (her?his?) young life..._

_...he saw a long flash of figures traveling through his mind, some of them lingering and stronger than others he saw the kind boy's face again, this time grown, older, but the kindness and laughter in his eyes not diminished...a red haired woman...a laughing dwarf...an elderly woman with a kind smile and a sort of glow around her...a strange, hulking figure of stone...a qunari...a beautiful woman whose gold eyes met hers and felt an instant connection..and fear ("I won't help you do this to yourself, Morrigan.") that startled both of them..._

_...he saw a blurred figure several times...clear enough he could make out bronzed skin and pale hair but a lance of pain that was purely emotional always blurred his figure before he (she?) could get a good look..._

" _Feynriel."_

_...and she had thought she was prepared for it, but she wasn't. She could only be glad her friends weren't able to see her cowardice since her back was to them. Because she was afraid. Maker's breath she was so_ scared _. She couldn't stop the shudders that wracked her as that sick, foul presence twisted its way into her, seeming to coat her entire mind and soul with a thick layer of rotting slime. She felt the mind behind that presence fill with triumph before it touched a part of her deep within, where her soul...if that was the word for it, the core of her...rested. It hesitated, realizing it was tricked, but by then it was too late for either of them. Its attempt to take her over tore them both free to let her body fall to the ground at her friends' feet...racing toward oblivion..._

_And Feynriel found himself on his knees, panting with fear and exhaustion. He was beside a small pool of water, a waterfall tumbling down from the rocky cliff that lined one side of it, deep forest circling everything. Quiet. Serene. Beautiful._

_Hands touched him lightly, helping him sit up. "Maker, you're more powerful than any of us imagined. I'm sorry, I didn't realize it or I would have been more careful...you didn't have to see any of that."_

_He sat up cautiously, recognizing that voice as the one that had been calling to him, finally laying eyes on the owner._

_He knew her. Instantly. She was a shock to the senses, even with a form that wasn't completely substantial. She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Poets still wrote poems about it. Pale skin and silver blond hair provided a striking contrast to eyes so dark they seemed like fathomless pools that studied him with quiet intensity._

" _You're her...the Hero of Ferelden..." he finally managed to breathe._

_She looked amused as she helped him to his feet. "I was."_

" _Where am I?" He looked around. He knew he was still in the Fade, he could see that odd, shifting quality to the air just at the edge of his vision._

" _My...sanctuary, you could say." She drifted to the edge of the water, a faraway look in her eyes. "The last time I can remember being truly happy was here..."_

_As he looked over at her, he saw her ears came to a slight point. Like his._

_The reason he'd learned all he could about Malaina Surana was because she was rumored to be half-elven, the same as him. It did his heart good to see evidence it was so... "Why did you bring me here?"_

" _I've been keeping an eye on you," she said, matter-of-fact. "You've never stayed this long or come this deep before."_

" _I've never been beaten and held captive by slavers before."_

" _There is that. Still, wandering about the Fade with little to no protection isn't the wisest thing to do, you know," Malaina said. "No matter how bad reality is. You'll need proper training if you're going to do it safely."_

" _I suppose you agree with my mother and I should go to the Circle," he said bitterly._

" _No." Her voice was thoughtful, surprising him. "No, I don't think the Circle will do you much good. Not in Kirkwall."_

" _Not that it matters, anyway. Soon I'll be on my way on a slaving ship," Feynriel said._

_She gave him an amused look._

" _What?" he challenged. "You're going to save me? How? You're dead." Despair didn't help his manners._

_Some kind of dark, feral power flickered through those dark eyes and stirred the air around her. She smiled, and this time it was frightening. "Even the slightest influence can be quite helpful if you know how to work it," she murmured. "Trust me on that, boyo. It's the story of my life."_

* * *

"You're telling me she's _sleepwalking_?" Varric demanded.

"No...she's awake." Bethany kept her voice light, trying to hide the fact she was sick with worry. She had been in a state of quiet panic since Alessa had disappeared this morning. "It's only happened a couple times before...her dreams get so intense she can't focus on anything else..."

"What do you mean?" Fenris' voice was tight, his eyes narrowed. "I thought you were the only mage in your family, to be haunted by the Fade and its demons."

The confusion in his voice, Bethany understood, but the anger...and hint of accusation...made her bristle.

"Now listen here..." Anders growled even as Bethany spun to face the elf. "The Fade touches _everyone_ on some level," she snapped. "It draws some people harder than others even if they don't wield magic. Alessa has always had vivid dreams. So did Carver, though not to the same extent." She spun away again, stalking forward. "It hasn't happened for years. Sometimes it was something truly calling to Alessa and sometimes it was just her getting overexcited but this time...this time I think someone was calling to her. She kept talking about people enslaved, so if helping Alessa isn't enough for you, then be happy you can probably take some slavers down. If _that_ isn't enough, then leave. We don't need you."

All three men stared after her, a bit stunned. Varric whistled. "Sunshine's got a temper on her."

Anders smirked at Fenris, who was standing with one fist clenched, his green eyes narrowed dangerously at Bethany's back. It made Anders move so he was walking just behind the young mage, making sure he was in between them and shooting a warning glance at Fenris over his shoulder. Varric started after her, glancing up. "Come on, elf, we'll sort it all out once we've caught up with Hawke and taken turns yelling at her for scaring the shit out of us."

Fenris composed himself and nodded, following.

* * *

Malcolm Hawke had been stern with all of his children, a velvet coated steel hand meant to guide them into using their freedom wisely. Bethany received the brunt of this quiet thunder, the need to be responsible with the power she wielded drilled into her from the time she was a young child, but neither Alessa or Carver had been spared it. Because the Hawke siblings were notably intuitive, with an uncanny knack for picking up on things most people didn't ever notice. Watching as his children grew, it was Malcolm's private musings that the magic that ran through both sides of their bloodline might have manifested in a much lesser way in his other two children. Not mages, no, but perhaps a bit more gifted than someone with no magic in their bloodline. It was a theory that both Alessa and Bethany would pick up and study much later on their life, and indeed, they noted that if one traced the bloodlines of the most successful and skilled among any country, the odds were very, very good that at least one mage could be found somewhere in their background.

Alessa's connection to the Fade was nowhere near as deep as her sister's, but it was deep enough she sometimes had dreams where she _knew_ she was dreaming. She never reported seeing places in the Fade, it was always a swirl of hazy tendrils of mist for her. Sometimes images would come to her, but more often than not, it would simply be voices calling to her in the mist. Even if she recognized them, Malcolm had been insistent that she never, ever follow them. It was rare for someone to be possessed through dreams, but it wasn't impossible, no matter what people wanted to believe.

Once or twice in her lifetime, she had recognized the voice calling to her, and the dreams came to her night after night, the voice growing louder. Alessa would become more and more agitated, more and more distracted, until she wouldn't be able to help trying to get to the bottom of it. Once it had led her right into danger, most often it led her in circles for days until the dreams faded away. And once it had saved her father's life. Malcolm had been traveling not long after they had settled in Lothering when he had been set upon by a band of thieves. That close to the town where his family had finally had a chance of finding a home, Malcolm had hesitated to do magic that would draw attention and the hesitation had cost him. He'd been beaten, dragged off the road deep enough into the woods no one would be able to hear him if he called out, tied up and left for dead.

By the time it happened, Alessa- thirteen years old at the time -had already been having nightmares, but they intensified that night and by the end of the next day, she had been so distraught she couldn't think straight. No one could calm her down, which didn't help the fact both Leandra and Bethany were feeling nervous and upset and they were all worried at Malcolm's absence. A few neighbors had offered to help and with Bethany and Alessa cautiously leading, they had found Malcolm grievously hurt and weakened, but alive.

It disturbed Hawke that the dreams that had been hitting her were of the same intensity as the ones that had made her certain her father was in danger. She and her father had always been close. It was her belief that her father had been, consciously or unconsciously, reaching out to her and that was why they had been so intense. But this boy she kept seeing, and the shadowy woman behind him, were unfamiliar to her. At least on one level. The brief times she'd gotten a clear look at the boy, she'd felt a jolt of recognition that was unnerving and completely defied logic. How could she know him when she'd never seen him in her life?

It was Merrill who gave her the key, mentioning a woman in the Alienage who was having troubles with her son. The more Hawke pieced together, working with single minded intensity on this puzzle, the more she started to understand. The boy's name was Feynriel and he was a half elf with a talent for magic. It was when his mother mentioned the nightmares he'd been having lately that something truly clicked in Hawke...and alarmed her. His mother had wanted to send him to the Circle, afraid for him, but the boy hadn't taken it well. He'd run away, and Hawke was certain someone had gotten a hold of him.

Her mabari might actually have been jealous of her ability to focus as she tracked through the city. Worried, Merrill had hesitated, clearly considering going to get Varric or Bethany, but eventually following Hawke. The Dalish elf had never seen her friend like this before, she was worried alone she'd get herself into terrible trouble.

Which was exactly what she did.

* * *

Feynriel stirred, lifting his head groggily as noise came from beyond the warehouse where he and the other slaves were being kept. The leader of the slavers was standing stock still in the middle of the room, eyes narrowed.

Other slaves were stirring, looking around curiously.

His eyes widened when a small figure crashed into the warehouse and disappeared around some crates. _Who is she?_ He forced himself into a sitting position. _Malaina?_

Silence, then her voice came, faint and getting fainter. _A dreamer. And a friend._

He listened intently, but she was gone, unable to stay within his mind if it was awake. He turned his attention to the battle at the front of the room and slowly, painfully, pushed himself to his feet. With this kind of hope in him, he wasn't willing to simply just lay there.

* * *

Alessa didn't have time to consider the fact that what she was doing was insane. Slavers...successful, well established ones, anyway...were among the worst kind of scum to take on, because they were generally more organized...and much more vicious. The market of selling people didn't draw the best members of any race. Had she been thinking rationally, Alessa would never have dreamed of simply slamming into the building. Her only excuse later was the worry that if she paused for even a small amount of time, she would be too late. As it was, she managed to take out the guards outside down without alerting the others, setting Moose at the entrance to guard it. When she hit the warehouse, the shock at the sheer audacity of the attack gave her an edge. She took one down and wounded another before they gathered themselves to start fighting back properly. She ducked down behind a series of crates and drew on every secret of hiding in plain sight she knew, moving swiftly from shadow to shadow the way Corin had taught her. It became a game of seek and find, depending on the tall crates and boxes throughout the room to narrow the slavers down, luring them around corners so she could drag them away long enough to kill them one by one. Kicking open cages and cutting roped hands and feet free on every slave she came across.

Eventually they caught on, splitting off into pairs and not separating. She'd knocked off a few of them by then, but there were still too many for her to take on all at once. That was when the mage among them finally pinpointed her and let loose a fireball on the crate right next to her. She fell to one side, coughing and cursing, shaking embers and debris off her and rolling, pushing herself to her feet right in time to see the mage grinning, lifting his staff and calling another spell.

" _Stop!"_

That loud, angry voice reverberated throughout the room, filled with power that shivered through her. It came from a slim, pale figure on the other side of the room, looking far too young for that voice. It wasn't enough to hold the mage, but it did make him...along with all the rest of the slavers...hesitate, wavering for an instant. It was enough for Alessa to duck behind another crate. By the time the mage had lifted his staff again, Merrill had arrived on the scene and launched an attack on him, closely followed by Moose, who came at the slaver nearest to Hawke.

It was a rare, awe inspiring moment to see mages duel. The two moved toward each other, staves swinging and hands twisting, firing off spell after spell. Merrill had the advantage, since the slaver mage hesitated to catch his compatriots in the crossfire, fearing retribution. Merrill had no such compunctions, actively laying down spells to catch as many of the slavers at time as she could.

Varian, their leader, might have tried using hostages then. He was, in fact, heading for Feynriel with the express purpose of doing just that. Unfortunately for him, not all the freed slaves had run for their lives. Most of them, in fact, had stayed and started freeing the others. Even as the slave captain moved away from the fight, Feynriel met his eyes coldly, the air pulsing oddly around him. A few seconds later, most of the people the slaver had intended to sell attacked him and his men with wild cries of anger and retribution, swinging ropes and chains and chunks of wood as crude but effective weapons.

Feynriel didn't think it was a stretch to say that some higher power was guiding them that day, for though several of them were wounded, a couple quite seriously so, not one slave lost his or her life and every slaver died in that room. Varian, to his credit, put up a good fight, but by that time, the slaves outnumbered him and his men. Even as he screamed at them to get back, reaching for Feynriel, perhaps intending again to take him hostage, Hawke came through the crowd and took him down herself, yanking his head back and slashing his throat open in one smooth, cold move.

The slaves cheered, sounding savage and triumphant, some of them spitting on Varian's corpse, the more practical ones starting to loot the body or the warehouse.

Throughout it all, Feynriel stood quiet, his head cocked and his eyes wide with wonder as he studied Hawke, who was standing with one hand pressed to a wound in her side, studying him with a similar expression. Moose trotted up to the young half elf, sniffing him and wagging his tail, tongue lolling out in a friendly dog grin. Hawke finally gave him a strange smile as Merrill came up to join them. "Hello, Feynriel. I've been dreaming of you."

"Hello, Hawke...I know," he replied quietly.


	17. Choices

" _I can't think of another figure more beautiful and more tragic than Bethany Hawke. Parthalan's true heir. The burden placed on her was, in its own way, heavier than any placed on her sister."_

-Dharin Ora, Kirkwall Circle Mage

* * *

"I know as much about Lady Surana as anyone does, Hawke. That is to say, next to nothing. Her companions probably know the most about her, and they aren't talking. Not even Anders will tell me about her." Varric was particularly put out at that last part. They were in his suite at the Hanged Man, going over some last minute plans in regards to the expedition. They finally had enough coin, all that was left was to await Bertrand's approval. His brother had haughtily said he would think about it, but Varric knew it was just for show. Time was, after all, running out.

"Feynriel insists that he saw her and talked to her," Hawke laid her head on her crossed arms. She was sleeping better now that the dreams had passed and she looked much better, her color back and the circles fading from under her eyes.

"Weird shit abounds when you're dealing with magic, so it wouldn't surprise me." Varric took a drink of ale and set some papers down. "So you sent the kid to the Dalish, huh?"

"The Circle wouldn't understand...the Templers certainly wouldn't. I was afraid they would make him Tranquil." She blinked at him. "How did you know?"

"Fenris." Varric didn't miss the way she winced. "He wasn't happy."

"No..." Hawke sighed and leaned back, rubbing her hands over her face. "He thinks he's too dangerous. And he thinks a demon might have been trying to get at us both."

There was more to it, he was quite sure, but Hawke wouldn't speak of it. Varric personally thought it was more accurate that Fenris had picked up on the clear connection between Hawke and the strange kid. And he didn't like it. Not one bit. He also didn't think Fenris himself realized it. He sobered a bit, leaning across the table to look at her. "That kid going to the Dalish doesn't bother me, Hawke. But that's the second time in so many weeks that you've run off and done something crazy without warning. You can't do that kind of shit down in the Deep Roads, you'll get us all killed."

Irritation flashed across her eyes for a moment before she took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "It's done, Varric. I promise I won't do anything stupid like that, not with so many lives in the balance along with mine."

Varric studied her for a moment, then nodded. He believed her and was relieved about it.

"Besides," she continued, "you'll be there to keep me in check, won't you?"

"And Anders, and Isabela, and Fenris." He saw her wince slightly at the name again. "He'll come around, Hawke."

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Maybe. If not, we can be civil enough to work well together. Neither of us wants to die or get anyone else killed, after all."

"Is your sister coming?"

"I still don't know. I don't think so, I think Mother is finally wearing her down. And..." she hesitated, "and I don't think she really wants to go, Varric."

He'd gotten that impression himself. "More she wants to prove herself, yeah?"

"I guess, I really don't know why she's so adamant about it. Mother really, really doesn't want her to go, though." Hawke sighed. "I'll check with her tonight. When do you reckon we'll be departing for the Deep Roads?"

"Within the next couple of weeks, Bartrand's eager to get going. Try not to get into too much trouble until then, huh?"

"I make no promises."

* * *

"I keep telling you not to involve yourself with this, Mother!" Bethany gritted her teeth in frustration.

"You're as stubborn as Alessa!" Leandra looked equally frustrated, glaring at her youngest daughter with a mixture of anger and desperation. "She keeps saying it's your choice."

"It _is_ my choice! One of the only ones I've _ever_ gotten to make for myself. At least Alessa learned to back off and trust me to make my own decisions. I noticed you're not making a fuss about her going," she added bitterly.

"I've never been able to stop that girl from running off into danger. I already know full well she wouldn't listen to me if I tried," Leandra scoffed. "I understand why _she_ wants to do this. But you...Bethany, I already lost Carver. I couldn't stand to lose both of you." Her voice turned pleading. "I know you, Bethany. I know you want to be able to choose how you live your life, but not this way! You're not like your sister. You don't really want to see what's down there. Don't go, I beg you!"

Bethany's breath caught and she looked away. "I..." It was true, the idea of going to the Deep Roads frightened her. Was her mother right? Was she taking a foolish risk simply because she wanted to be able to control her life in some way as she hadn't before? "I'll think about it, Mother...I just..." She shook her head. "I need to think."

Leandra sighed behind her, but didn't try and stop her as she pushed the door open and stepped into dim light of early evening on the coast, painting Lowtown in shades of pale gray and purple with touches of fading orange. Bethany pulled up short when she saw Alessa sitting at the bottom of the steps, Moose sprawled out at her feet.

Her sister didn't look up as she moved down the steps toward her, keeping her eyes focused on the street even when Beth sat down beside her. They sat silently for a long while. Bethany kept waiting for Alessa to say something- clearly she'd overheard the conversation -but she didn't, merely continuing to stare out at the street, scratching the hound's ears. Bethany finally spoke up, unable to keep quiet any longer. "It's either the Templars or the darkspawn...at least I can fight the darkspawn." Even to her own ears, she sounded like she was trying to convince herself. She stood abruptly. "I'm going to see if Anders needs any help."

"I'll walk you there." Alessa rose to her feet as well. "I came to see if Uncle Gamlen came home yet."

"Mother says he's at the Blooming Rose."

Alessa sighed. "That's what I was afraid of."

They walked in silence through the winding streets of Lowtown, heading for the Undercity. In truth, Bethany probably could have made her way there safely while there was still light. She'd learned the tunnel system almost as well as Anders had and she was known by then, considered by many to be the Healer's apprentice, which wasn't far off at all, really. She carried the same unspoken protection that Anders did in Lowtown and Darktown. "Mother finally got an audience with the Viscount sometime in the next couple of weeks," Bethany spoke up.

"She did?" Alessa looked startled.

"I'm surprised she didn't tell you."

"Well, I _am_ the one who earned a magistrate's ire..."

"You know there was no choice for that, we all thought so, Mother included. His son was killing _children_ and he admitted on his own he wouldn't be able to stop." Bethany fidgeted with the edge of her robe. "I would...I would like to help her do that as much as I can. I'd love to be able to walk in our family's mansion..."

"Beth," Alessa said, "if you don't want to go to the Deep Roads, there's not a single one of us that is going to think less of you for it. After all, you're not crazy like me."

The note of hurt in her sister's voice made Bethany take a close look at her for the first time. How she was carefully trying to keep her face composed. "Well, you _would_ insist on going even if she asked you not to, Alessa. What did you expect?" she said without thinking.

Alessa nodded. She looked so resigned, Bethany kicked herself mentally for saying that. "That doesn't mean she isn't worried about you, Alessa. You know that. She just knows you're likely to come back alive."

"But if she has to lose one of us, she'd rather it be me instead of you."

Bethany's head whipped around, her eyes wide with shock. "Alessa! That isn't true!"

"Yes it is. Carver was always the one she related to best out of all of us and she still hasn't stopped blaming me for his death, no matter what she says.

Bethany opened her mouth and then closed it. It was true that Mother had been depressed over Carver, and there were times Beth suspected Alessa was right, she still did blame her. She hunched her shoulders. There was more to it, of course. Sometimes Alessa and Leandra got along as well as a pair of chickens tied over a clothesline. It had started after Father had died and had gotten progressively worse since they'd come to Kirkwall. As Bethany was often the subject of arguments between them, she was constantly drawn into the middle of it.

Alessa sighed and dropped the subject. "But either way, you should go or stay for you, Beth. Not her, not me. Not Anders, either." She gave her a wicked smile. Bethany blushed. Anders could take care of himself, but she _was_ worried about him. Alessa's smile faded. "I'll stand with whatever decision you make, Beth. I'm...well, I'm trying not to...I know I've been overprotective..."

Beth had to smile. "Maybe a little," she said as she mounted the steps to the clinic. She paused in the doorway, brows furrowed. "Wait...Alessa, it's getting dark, how are you going to get home?"

"Well, I admit sometimes Isabela is around at this time for..." Hawke trailed off, both sisters freezing in the doorway as they took in the sight of Anders standing beside a flustered looking Seneschal Bran. Anders cleared his throat quietly and Bethany stepped in, her face settling into a neutral mask.

A chuckle came from off to the side. Isabela was indeed there, trying to look innocent and pointedly not looking in the direction of the Seneschal. "I'll walk her home safe, Bethany, not to worry. I hear your uncle is making waves at the Blooming Rose. You want to reconsider my offer for a night there on me, you just let me know."

Bethany blushed, stammering and hurrying further into the clinic as Isabela led her sister out the door again before Alessa could interrogate either of them. Anders shook his head and smiled ruefully at her, speaking quietly to the Seneschal for a few moments before sending him on his way. Seneschal Bran managed to keep his dignity, walking out with his head held high.

The clinic was empty except for Rhea and a young pregnant woman she was looking over. Anders came up to her, his smile fading as he got a good look at her. "You've been fighting with your mother again."

Bethany looked away. Anders nodded. "About the Deep Roads?"

She nodded. Anders laid a hand on her shoulder. "You don't want to go, do you?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Yes." She could admit it to Anders. He had always treated her like an equal, had enjoyed hearing about her father and she had seen wistfulness pass across his eyes when she spoke of her training. There were times that Bethany thought she was defying the will of the Maker Himself with the way she lived but there was nothing that would convince her that her father's training had been remiss. Malcolm Hawke had drilled the need to be responsible with the power that flowed through her with every breath.

"Then I have a favor to ask of you," Anders said quietly. He gestured around them. "Between you and Rhea, you have considerable healing skills. I was hoping the two of you and a few of the others we've come across could keep the clinic running while I'm in the Deep Roads."

Bethany stared at him. Anders gave her a crooked smile. "I admit, I was hoping you might stay behind for this very purpose. Not to mention I think it will do both me and your sister good to know you're safe."

"Anders, I don't think..."

He took her hands and squeezed them gently. "You and Rhea work well together. And you're an apostate, Bethany, if anymore mages end up needing help, you'll know what to do."

She looked away. Anders had been taking steps to help runaway mages, it was starting to become well known to go to him if you needed help. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. One part of her approved but the other...it seemed to spur on the side of Anders' that Justice inhabited. That made her nervous because finding a peaceful solution to things wasn't something Justice was very interested in, and Anders didn't think it was possible. Still... "I've never taken charge of something like that. Maker, I've never taken charge of anything at all."

"Now is as good a time as any to have a go at it. As long as you don't burn the place down, I'll be content."

She chuckled. "All right, on your head be it."

"I find myself supremely unworried."

Despite his light tone, Bethany knew this wasn't something he was doing lightly. When they had first met him, he had called this place a sanctuary of healing and salvation. His own salvation. He healed because it gave him joy to heal people, which balanced out the hatred Justice fueled in him. The thought of the spirit inhabiting him always made her nervous, though she hadn't seen much of a sign of it since the night the templars had ambushed them except the occasional flicker of odd light in Anders' eyes. "Anders...thank you."

"I figured you needed something to focus on besides the crusade to get the family estate back and worrying about templars." His hand rose without him seeming to notice it, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear gently. When she shifted closer, the hand trailed down, cupping her cheek. Even as Bethany turned her face into the caress, Anders took a step back, shaking himself. "I'm sorry."

"I don't mind," she murmured.

"I do." There was an expression of genuine pain in his eyes as he took a step back. "You're so beautiful, Bethany. And good. I feel like I'm corrupting you any time I so much as touch you."

"Anders, don't be ridiculous." Bethany started to take a step forward and he held up a hand to stop her, shaking his head.

"I would never forgive myself if I hurt you," Anders said. "What you saw in the Chantry that night, that's who I am, Bethany. A year ago, I...I would...I might...but I'm not that man anymore. I'll break your heart, and that might kill me as surely as the Templars."

They stared at each other in silence for a long time. Bethany was the first to drop her eyes, unable to hide her disappointment, finally admitting to the attraction that lay between them. She understood what he was saying, but that didn't stop her from wishing things were different. Anders wore a look of profound regret, but even as she looked, there was a faint glow there in his eyes. It died quickly, but Bethany got the distinct impression Justice was pleased. She hated it a little for that.

Anders shook himself again, half turning away. "Come, we'd better help you learn the ropes a bit while there's time to do it."


	18. Taking Steps

" _There comes a time when the mind takes a higher plane of knowledge but can never prove how it got there."_

**-Albert Eienstein**

* * *

"Hawke, _will you get down from there?_ You're making me dizzy!" Isabela demanded, her hands on her hips.

Hawke ignored her, leaning forward and peering into the face carved several feet up the length of a rough hewn pillar. She pulled back onto the ledge- Varric had no idea how the void she'd made it up there -and scrabbled for one of her notebooks, muttering and scribbling something down.

Varric shook his head, amused. Gold or jewels didn't faze Hawke, but surround her with old statues and scribbles on rock and she was ecstatic. She answered his question of how she'd gotten up there a moment later when she threw a rope down toward the ground and slid down it, landing with a hop, giving Isabela an angelic smile and receiving a glare in return. She'd been out of sorts since they'd left behind open air for ceilings of rock. Varric thought she was probably a bit claustrophobic. Truly, he wasn't sure why Isabela had wanted to come along, but she seemed eager to get away from Kirkwall for a bit and the prospect of lots of treasure probably couldn't hurt.

He heard Bartrand snarl a string of curses behind him and winced, turning around as Hawke moved to join him. "Problems, brother?"

Bartrand was staring at a fall of giant rocks and sand blocking the passage ahead like that alone could scare it out of his way. "Sodding Deep Roads! Who knows how long it will take to clear this path?"

"So let's try and find a way around instead." A suggestion Varric and Hawke had both made from the start and had been roundly ignored.

Bartrand sent him a scorching look. "You think I'm an idiot, Varric?"

Varric considered it a tribute to his self control that he didn't answer that, despite the opening his brother left him.

"The scout said the side passages were too dangerous," Bartrand continued.

"Sitting out here in the open is just as dangerous," Hawke pointed out. Varric heard Fenris grunt in agreement behind them. The elf had been stalking the camp like a caged animal, almost vibrating with tension.

"We'll take a look," Varric said. "If we come running back screaming, you'll know staying put was the right decision."

Hawke grinned and Bartrand glared at both of them. "Fine, find a way around. Just do it quickly!"

"Aw, don't worry, Bartrand, if you get chilly out here in this big chamber, I'm sure we'll find a nice darkspawn to share your bedroll with you," Isabela cooed.

"Provided you don't scare it off first," Anders added. He'd been silent and clearly uncomfortable ever since they'd passed through the caves above and entered the actual Deep Roads, it was nice to see his sense of humor was still around.

Bartrand scowled at both of them and shot Hawke and Varric a disgusted look. "Do you have no control over your peons?"

"None whatsoever," Hawke said cheerfully.

Bartrand shook his head contemptuously and stomped away.

"Master Tethras?"

Varric turned to meet an older dwarf, a merchant and adventurer by the name of Bodahn Feddic. He looked genuinely distressed, fidgeting nervously. "I hate to add to your burden, but I fear I must. I think my boy has wandered off. He's somewhere in those passages right now."

"Sandal?" Hawke said, sounding alarmed. Varric didn't blame her. Sandal, Bodahn's adopted son, was amazing at crafting things, especially from lyrium, but he wasn't quite...right...in the head. He wasn't crazy, like Bartrand kept suggesting, but he was almost child like. Hawke had struck up an acquaintance with the pair when she'd learned they had traveled with Malania Surana and her companions and she and Sandal seemed to have formed an attachment, certainly enough of one she was visibly distressed by his disappearance.

Bodahn nodded, casting a nervous glance over at Bartrand. Considering how his brother had punched out the scout that had reported the passage being blocked earlier, Varric understood why the merchant had come to them first. "I beg you, keep an eye out for him."

"Of course," Hawke said, looking around like she could spot the little dwarf right then and there.

Varric patted the other dwarf on the shoulder and nodded up at Hawke. "Let's get moving then."

* * *

One of the things Hawke had tried to use to sell herself and Bethany in convincing Bartrand to take them on was pointing out they had actually fought and killed darkspawn. While Varric considered that an asset, he hadn't realized how much of one it was until they actually had started going up against darkspawn.

According to the Chantry, the darkspawn were created when ancient Magisters from the old Tevinter Imperium had entered the Golden City, where the Maker had created a paradise for His children, and corrupted it. They had been cast out and returned to the earth as monsters; the first darkspawn. Varric didn't know (or particularly care) if any of that was true, but readily agreed the darkspawn, whatever their origins, were the most dangerous enemy in Thedas. They had no society, no morals, no mercy. They attacked any living thing they came across.

For the most part, they kept to the Deep Roads for the dwarves and Grey Wardens to keep in check. The only thing they seemed focused on was the strange 'song' Anders said passed through the minds of everyone that carried the Taint that transformed a living being into darkspawn. Or in the Wardens' case, anyone who carried a hint of the taint by drinking darkspawn blood. This song only became a problem when it led the darkspawn to the corpse of one of the great dragons- the Old Gods, humans called them -which led to the creation of an archdemon, a great dragon corrupted by the taint which took over and commanded the rest, leading to a Blight, which was what Hawke's homeland was currently struggling to recover from. They were scary enough as little more than animals, so Anders mentioning he'd battled a couple of them who seemed to have intelligence alongside his Warden Commander in Ferelden was highly disturbing. They could only hope there weren't more of them down here.

Whatever rage Hawke might be feeling toward them, she kept it firmly in check. She and Aveline didn't much like to talk about the massacre at Ostagar, but Varric could only imagine what it had been like to see an entire army of the things bearing down on them. He'd had respect for both women from the start, but he had even more now that he'd seen what they had survived. It took a special kind of strength to go through something like that and survive with your sanity intact.

Or a certain kind of...power? "Well, I'll be a nug's uncle..."

Hawke slowly approached Sandal Feddic, who was standing in the center of a large chamber studded with lyrium all along the walls. There were dead darkspawn scattered all around him. The only exception was what had obviously once been an ogre, one of the biggest darkspawn out there, off to the side. It was now a statue frozen mid charge.

Sandal's face and clothing were spattered with blood but he seemed uninjured and was definitely not at all bothered, smiling at him in that blissfully unaware way of his, waving at Hawke. "Hallo!"

Isabela kicked one of the corpses. "I don't see a weapon. Did he stun them with his wit?"

"Boom!" Sandal waved some kind of runed stone in the air.

Hawke wandered up to the ogre and rapped on it with her knuckles. She turned slowly, regarding Sandal with a thoughtful expression. "Enchantment?"

" _Not_ enchantment," Sandal said with uncharacteristic seriousness. He padded up to Hawke and pressed the rune into her hand before wandering away again. Hawke looked at Varric and shrugged helplessly.

The way back was mostly clear, but Hawke insisted on escorting Sandal back until they were a safe distance from the main chamber and he wouldn't run into any trouble before continuing on.

Later, Varric would admit that he might have been starting to get arrogant, scoffing at the scout's cowardice at insisting the passages were too dangerous. He should have known better than to give fate a challenge like that.

They kept coming across darkspawn, but in scattered groups, nothing they could not handle, especially once they got an idea of how the darkspawn worked, not hard between Anders and Hawke's combined knowledge. Plus, they had all been working together for some time, all of them knew how the others in the group fought.

The first real test came when they hit some kind of spider pit while exploring. Spiders in general were a nuisance for adventurers, you really only got in trouble if you were alone. They were scary looking and some of them had poison that would give you some serious pain if you didn't get the bite taken care of, but they were dumber than shit and once you knew how to fight one, you generally had an idea how to go about killing any of them. They weren't big on tactics.

The biggest spider Varric had ever come across was about the size of a horse; right up until the moment Hawke had cried out and they'd turned to find their passage blocked by a monstrosity that probably could have wiped out half of Lowtown before anyone could stop it. It was easily ten times bigger than any spider he'd ever come across, its body hideously bloated and its movements heavy and clumsy. It squealed at them, the sound actually hurting his ears, and charged, banging against the sides of the shallow pit.

They killed the thing. It left every single one of them bleeding and covered in slimy ichor, Varric got a first taste of what flying through the air felt like and he got way more of a good look at the thing's hideous face- its thick fangs bursting out of its mouth and fat, shiny eyes that seemed crammed into the space above them at random -than he ever wanted to, but they did it. Silence finally reigned as the spider fell over and curled in on itself. From the stunned looks on everyone else's faces, Varric gathered he wasn't the only one who had never seen one this big before.

"Burn that thing, Anders," Isabela said harshly. "Make sure it never gets up again."

"Wait." Hawke held out a hand to the mage, though she didn't have to. One look at Anders confirmed the mage wasn't going to be up to calling fire for quite a bit. Hawke moved closer to the thing, much to Fenris's obvious displeasure. She kicked it sharply and its legs twitched, making all of them jump, but it didn't move further. Once Hawke was confident it was dead, she moved around the corpse to the head, her face set in that cool, assessing look she got when she was focused on figuring something out. She crouched at the thing's head, peering into that ugly face, her brows furrowed. Fenris moved so he was standing off to the side, Isabela looked disgusted, but Varric actually found the courage to come up beside her, though he kept his eyes firmly away from the thing. "What are you doing, Hawke?"

"Look at its eyes," she said quietly. "Spiders always have lots of eyes, but they're usually in rows."

Varric blinked and took a quick glance at the spider and noted now that it wasn't moving that its eyes, indeed, looked wrong. There were too many of them, for one thing, pebbling its face in various sizes like some sort of disease instead of sitting in neat rows like the smaller ones. One of its fangs was bigger than the other, as well, and a couple of its legs were distinctly fatter and longer than the others, which explained its clumsy movement.

"Zek says spiders in general have become more aggressive in the past few years," Hawke murmured, sounding troubled. "In Ferelden and down here, you could attribute that to the Blight, since the taint ruins the land. But he's seen it and gotten reports from all over the place where the Blight never came and there is no open path into the Deep Roads. There's twice as many spiders on the surface as there were a few years ago."

"What does that mean, Hawke?"

"I don't know. But I don't like it."

Voices came from behind them, including Bartrand's. Apparently finding Sandal and clearing out some of the darkspawn on the way in had helped the mercenaries regain their courage and they had followed them into the passage. Isabela went to meet them, obviously wanting to get away from the spiders. Varric, Fenris, and Anders watched with disgust and fascination as Hawke methodically took samples from the dead spider. She pulled a small jar filled with some kind of fluid from a special pocket in her pack and carefully carved one of the wrong looking eyes out, plunking it into the jar and sealing it tightly before returning it to her pack. She started taking more samples of its hair and carving pieces of flesh from various parts of it. Varric left her to it, obviously Zek would be able to make something of it back at the Lowtown Library. He went about gathering the considerable treasure scattered around the pit. They would _not_ be splitting this part of it with Bartrand, he decided. In fact, he saw no reason at all why Bartrand should know any of it was even here.

As if the thought conjured the man, Bartrand stomped to the top of the rickety stairs that led down into the pit. His step faltered when he got a good look at the spider, but he recovered quick enough, glaring at his brother as he descended. "Apparently you have a different definition of 'quickly' than I do."

"So sorry, brother, we told the darkspawn to hurry it along but they seemed disinclined," Varric retorted.

"If you..." Bartrand was distracted by a tearing sound as Hawke started sawing off the spider's fangs with a hunting knife. Several of the mercs, tough guys that they were, started gagging. Anders was leaning over her slightly, watching with interest. "What are you doing, human?" Bartrand finally managed to demand.

"Poison samples," Hawke said absently, not looking up.

For the first time in a long time, Bartrand appeared nonplussed. He eyed Hawke for a long moment. Before he could speak, she finally glanced at him. "We should probably make camp in one of the clearer passages where we can guard it a bit better. We all need to rest up before we continue on."

"Good idea. The tunnels ahead are in better condition and we should be able to clear out any straggling darkspawn." Varric moved around the spider's body as Hawke rose to her feet.

"All right, all right." Obviously unable to bear the idea of them giving orders, Bartrand strode ahead of them, barking commands to the mercs. Bodahn was standing near the stairs, Sandal beside him. He gave them a beaming smile and Sandal waved cheerfully. Varric grinned up at her. "Not bad for a day's work, eh, Hawke?"

Hawke merely patted her pack, and the samples within, and smiled.

* * *

They found a chamber that was closed off on all sides except one, which made it an ideal place to camp. They were properly in the thaigs now. The caves laced with lyrium veins had given way to tall chambers supported by heavily carved pillars, rickety staircases and ramps giving way to neatly carved stone ones. Bartrand was ecstatic to find it in such good condition. Already he'd found a few pieces of good worth here and there, and they weren't even to the chambers where the proper kinds of treasure could be found.

Of course, what Varric had gathered from the spider pit was worth twice what Bartrand had found, but Varric obviously didn't feel the need for one upmanship in that case, Fenris thought with amusement. He'd promised to add it to his and Hawke's share and divide it equally. Fenris honestly hadn't given much thought to the money but the idea of having that much money that was his alone was an intriguing one.

The camp was asleep. Bartrand was snoring, one guard set up to keep watch over him specifically. Isabela was curled up on her bedroll, a knife in her hand. Varric, the mage, and a couple of the mercenaries were gathered around the low fire, playing cards and talking in low voices. Everything was quiet, only the occasional screech in the distance breaking the silence.

His eyes drifted- yet again -to Hawke, who was sitting watch at the entrance of the chamber. A set of double doors were set in the stone, but one of them was broken and wouldn't close all the way. She was seated on the floor in front of the broken door, her back against the wall, angled so a glance up would allow her to take a quick look through the gap between the doors. A book was open in her lap but she had currently abandoned her reading to scribble something in a leather bound notebook. Whenever a noise came from beyond the chamber, her entire body would tense up and she would go still, cocking her head like an animal and listening until she was certain it wasn't coming closer. Occasionally, she would shoot a glance his way but she always looked away again quickly and didn't seem aware he was watching her.

" _She loves books."_ Bethany's angry glare before they had left still stung him and her words even more so. _"She loves to read. She loves to teach other people how to read. She does it all the time for the Library, doesn't matter where they came from, she'll teach them if they want to learn. So you see, you're not so special."_

He didn't realize he was moving toward her until he was standing a few feet away. She must have sensed someone's presence, because she looked around and started when she saw him. Her eyes moved to the book in her lap and she closed it on reflex, turning it over so the cover was hidden by her lap. But Fenris had already caught a glimpse of it and recognized it. He felt a pang go through him. She'd brought it along with her.

They had not spoken much since before the expedition had started, and when they did, Hawke was awkward and wary. Her normally open manner had changed to being overly polite and careful of what she said to him, which made him clench his teeth every time. But he couldn't call her on it, because he had no one to blame but himself.

It had started when he'd found the books in Danarius's library. Most of them were in good condition, it seemed they were on the shelves mostly for show. He didn't know what most of them were about but he'd told Hawke and the dwarf from the library they were welcome to them. Hawke's obvious delight balanced out any awkwardness in dodging questions about which ones he wanted to keep. He'd finally just chosen several at random to stop the questioning.

Perhaps it was the clear enjoyment Hawke got from reading, the constant notes on things she observed she would write down, that made him feel so ashamed about his own inability. He couldn't read or write, no one had ever taught him. In fact, anyone who dared try would have been punished severely. Slaves didn't need to read or write in order to follow commands.

But he hadn't been able to hide it any longer when Hawke had brought that book to him. _The Book of Shartan_ , written by the elven slave that had fought...and died...by Andraste's side, leading the slaves of Tevinter in a rebellion to join her and earning the elves the Dales, a place they could call their own.

Hawke, oblivious to his discomfort, had chattered on about how she had found it and it had made her think of him. She thought he might want to have it for his personal library. His personal library. Something about those words, the utter lack of understanding in her tone, made that mixture of shame and discomfort twist up inside him until it was ready to snap. He'd finally admitted he couldn't read and Hawke had seemed surprised. She didn't get it. Not remotely. She had no way of knowing what it was like to grow up surrounded by people whose best interest was to keep you as ignorant as possible.

When she had offered to teach him, he'd snapped at her, defensive. He didn't need her pity or her condescension simply because she'd been allowed to learn.

He'd regretted the harsh words the moment they had passed his lips. The expression of complete and utter shock on her face had sobered him more effectively than a blow. He'd turned away from her stammered apology and attempts to explain, his anger turning away from her toward himself, but he didn't know how to say so. By the time he'd regained his balance, she had gone, backing out of the door and leaving him alone.

Fenris was used to apologizing. He was used to being forced down and begging for forgiveness even if it was something he hadn't done. Danarius found it amusing. Punishing slaves for the slightest transgressions was a favorite past time of the magisters. It was a good way to remind them that their lives rested entirely on the whims of their masters.

If he'd ever had to honestly apologize, he couldn't remember it.

"Fenris?"

Hawke's wary voice brought him back to the present sharply, reminded that he was still simply standing there looking at her. She was watching him uncertainly, her fingers playing with the edge of the book-cover in a nervous gesture. "Is something wrong? It's not your watch yet."

"What are you writing?" He knelt down beside her, which only seemed to make her more nervous.

"They're, um...problems. For measurement and such...based off the architecture here. For Jaim. Master Palla's apprentice. Haze is working with him while I'm gone but he still needs some tutoring on those kinds of mathematics. I thought he might find some of this architecture interesting..." She made a vague gesture, glancing at him.

He'd seen the elven boy with them at the library, studiously bent over schematics and lines of problems on paper, his brow furrowed in concentration. Fenris sighed, settling on the floor and leaning back against the wall. "I bet he didn't feel any shame, did he?"

"Shame for what?" Hawke asked, baffled.

He turned his head to look at her squarely. "For ignorance."

Hawke absorbed that and set her pencil into a loop at the edge of the notebook before closing it. She was silent for a long moment, then said quietly: "There's no shame in that, especially when you haven't had the opportunity to learn. It's hard to learn anything if no one will teach you."

Fenris carefully picked _The Book of_ _Shartan_ up out of her lap, studying it, opening the cover to read the squiggles of ink that meant nothing to him. The idea of having to learn something the youngest child in Kirkwall could probably do was still embarrassing, but the strange sense of... _longing_ that swept him at the idea of being able to understand those squiggles was stronger. "I've always wanted to learn more of Shartan," he said. "To even speak his name in Tevinter is punishable, but you still hear whispers when the magisters aren't listening."

"'At Shartan's word, the sky grew black with arrows. At Our Lady's, ten thousand swords rang from their sheaths, a great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming: those who had been slaves were now free,'" Hawke recited, her voice taking on a lilting quality, making the words almost like a caress.

"What's that?"

"The Canticle of Shartan. It used to be part of the Chant of Light, but it was stricken after the Exalted March the Chantry made on the Dales. It's consider heretical now. Funny how that works. I wonder what he would have thought of that supreme act of ingratitude. One war and suddenly everything he did isn't important." She nodded at the book.

"And yet you know it by heart." Fenris ran his fingers along the page absently.

"I know all the Dissonant Verses by heart. We had a teacher once before we settled in Lothering that made us all recite a verse from the Chant every day. Those were my favorite to recite. She didn't like it much." Her expression was bland, but that didn't hide the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. Her expression sobered for a moment, then she shook it off and looked at him without glancing away for the first time in weeks. "I never meant to sound condescending, Fenris. The way you talk, your vocabulary...you're better spoken than most people I know. It truly never occurred to me that you couldn't read. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, Hawke. My inability isn't your fault in the slightest and the offer...was a kind one." He trailed off, not sure how to ask.

"It still stands." Her hand lifted slightly like she was going to touch him and he couldn't stop the automatic tension that rose in him at the move. She didn't follow through, however, letting her hand settle back in her lap. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Fenris. But there's nothing holding you back from learning now."

That thought startled him. There was no one to punish him for daring to learn, no one to stop him from doing it. No one except himself. For the first time he wondered for how many things that was the case. It was something to consider. But for the moment... "I'd like the chance to learn, if you're still willing."

That quick, dazzling smile of hers curved her lips for a moment. "It would be my pleasure."

And the wondrous thing was, he believed that.


	19. Interlude: The Incident

**\- Excerpt from _City of Chains_ by Varric Tethras**

The Hawke sisters. You hear all sorts of things about how different they were in temperament and behavior. Many people forget, however, that they were raised the same way and by the same people. At the core, they shared far more similarities than differences. I don't just mean they were both beautiful and talented. They both fell in love with someone they really shouldn't have if they had known what was good for them. Both of them shouldered burdens they never asked for. They both remained stubbornly idealistic even throughout the trials of their lives. And both of them were driven by love, not duty. Love for their father and the dream he had for them. Love for their mother and lost brother. Love for their friends and the people they felt bound to. And their love for each other. Always that.

**\- From the personal memoirs of Silandry Marath, copy also found among the notes of Varric Tethras**

_I never got a chance to know Bethany was well as I knew Alessa, of course. But before she'd left for the Deep Roads, she had asked us to keep an eye on Bethany for her. Since she often came to the library to look up or ask advice on something about the clinic she didn't know, that wasn't hard to do. A sweet girl, Bethany. At the time, you only saw a hint of the steel beneath that sunny nature._

_I've heard speculations that we were the ones that alerted the Templars about her, which is nonsense. We knew she was a mage, of course, but none of us cared. No, I think it was pure bad luck on her part…or good luck, I suppose, depending on how one looks at it…that the templers caught wind of her. Maybe they were watching Anders's clinic, I don't know. She came into the library one night after the patients had been seen to looking pale and frightened, certain some templars had been following her. Looking back, she was probably right. That was the night she sat with us there in the middle of that library that was starting to resemble the place it would become years later and told us about herself and Alessa. If you want a clear view of something that made the Hawke sisters into what they are now, this incident is surely one of the foundations. I transcribed this as to the best of my abilities and with Bethany's permission._

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm going against the will of the Maker himself living the way I do.

Before I met Anders, I'd never met another apostate besides my father, and father never told us what it was that drove him away from the Circle, or even where that Circle was. As far as I know, my mother never even knew.

I don't like the Rite of Tranquility, but I do believe maybe the Circles are necessary. The Templars…I'm not so sure. Some of them seem decent, but when someone has total control over someone else, there's plenty of room for abuse. You don't have to be a mage to be victim to it, either.

I guess I can't make a statement like that without explaining, can I?

Alessa was the center of it, actually. You see, well…it was like this…

Alessa doesn't mean to cause trouble, she really doesn't. It's just that she questions _everything_. 'It is the will of the Maker' has _never_ been enough to satisfy her. 'The art and science of asking questions is the source of all knowledge', is a quote from one of Father's books she latched onto; it's practically her motto.

She's just like Father was, you see. You have to understand that Mother took us to Chantry services often enough, but it wasn't the center of our lives. How could it be? Our very existence went against its teachings.

Father traveled extensively and everything he knew he passed on to us. If we wanted to learn about something, he encouraged it, even if it went against the Chantry's teachings. Alessa did that more than Carver and I did. It started getting us into trouble when Mother tried to put us in schools, especially if the Chantry was running them. Alessa was a terror with questions when we were younger. The idea of taking something on faith without anything to explain it was something she has never gotten to this day. She doesn't believe anything you can't back up with facts and figures and she was even more stubborn about it when we were young than she is now, if you can imagine that.

So, when I was eight and Alessa was ten, we had settled in this little village not far from Redcliffe. The chantry there was small and it didn't have its own troop of templars, but there was a group of them that traveled between the small villages and Redcliffe, keeping an eye out for apostates and blood mages. I don't remember that town very well, but I remember _him_. Ser Meran, I think he was a Knight-Captain. I don't think he could have gotten away with all he did if he hadn't had a high rank. Or maybe he could have. Maybe the Chantry keeps a blind eye toward Templars like that, the way Father says they allow abuse in the Circles to go on.

We stayed there for almost a year and after a few months, Mother wanted us to try going to lessons with the other children. They were taught by this chantry sister, Sister Mathilde, I think her name was. She was _very_ devout. She and Alessa clashed almost instantly because she disapproved of all the questions she kept asking. Carver and I had lessons with the younger children, but we all gathered together before lessons to recite verses from the Chant of Light. Alessa hated that and refused to do it, no matter what punishment they gave her. To this day I don't know why, but she dug her heels in and refused, which only made Sister Mathilde even more relentless. So finally Sister Mathilde started making her come to the front and stand there until she recited something. The first time she buckled and read what Sister Mathilde gave her, but the next time she quoted the Canticle of Shartan. I don't know where she got a hold of the Dissonant Verses, but she memorized them all and started reciting them anytime Sister Mathilde made her speak in front of the class.

That _really_ made Sister Mathilde angry. She actually came to our house, which made all of us nervous, and spoke to Mother. I heard my parents arguing over it later in the night.

_At this point, Bethany fell silent for a long while, clearly disturbed. We gave her time to decide if she wanted to go on. Eventually, she started talking again. –S.M._

We knew some of the templars had been posted at the Chantry for a few weeks, but none of us knew Ser Meran had Alessa brought to his office. All I knew was she started acting even worse….then she stopped suddenly.

He used me, you see. And Carver. I think men like him automatically know how to zone in on a child's weakness. Carver never knew, though sometimes I wonder if he suspected. I found out because he brought me into his office along with her one day.

_Zek interjected at his point, wanting to know if she was all right and asking the question we were all afraid of voicing, which was whether or not the bastard had touched them. –S.M._

He didn't, no. Not the way you mean, at least. Alessa told me he didn't make it that far and I believe her. That wasn't because he didn't want to; he just didn't get the right opportunity.

When I came in, Alessa was sitting there and I saw the bruise on her arm right away. And the look on his face…

That creep that keeps skulking around, Ser Alrik…he has that same damned look. Sometimes if you catch him at just the right moment there's this kind of…sick guilt in his eyes. But mostly it's a smug look. Predatory.

Little girls aren't safe around men who look like that.

He told me if I didn't do what he said, he'd hurt Alessa. He told Alessa if she didn't do what he said, he would hurt me. He obviously was certain he could scare us into silence. The thing was, he was going to hurt us anyway. I saw the bruise on Alessa's arm, and the way he started touching my shoulder…

_Bethany needed a break at this point and she came back later to finish it. –S.M._

Alessa hit him over the head with something and when he turned toward her, I kicked him. It was automatic. I just kept thinking I didn't want him to _touch_ me again. I didn't want to see the look in his eyes again. Then Alessa had my hand and was dragging me out of there and we just ran and ran and ran. We didn't even realize Carver had come looking for us until he caught up with us later.

We couldn't hide it from Father. The second he saw us, he brought us into the house. He looked at the bruise on Alessa's arm for a long time, then he asked us what had happened in this really quiet voice I'd never heard from him before. Neither one of us was ever able to lie to him. We told him, and he got quieter and quieter. Mother started crying, but Father never said a word. He just told us to pack up because we were leaving. I felt terrible because we had caused so much trouble and made us have to leave again. But Alessa…

That evening as Mother was packing up, Father sat her down and they talked for a long time. He told her she had to be more careful about what she said and did from now on. That she had to take care of me and Carver. That she couldn't cause trouble. He didn't say it out loud, but I could hear what he wasn't saying even then. I'd spent too much time hiding what I was to not pick up on what he meant. He was asking Alessa not to ask questions, not to upset the Chantry members or draw attention to us. And to this day, I think it broke something in Father to do that. He hated the fact he and I had to hide ourselves away because we were mages. The fact he had to ask Alessa to, essentially, hide what she was too hurt him in a way I could never really understand.

Of course, I didn't know until later that Father had killed Ser Meran. He did it right before we fled into the night while we were packing up. I think Mother might have suspected, but she has never mentioned it.

_At this point, Haze mentioned he didn't blame Malcolm for that and he would have killed the bastard too. –S.M._

I don't blame him, I never have. My father had many secrets and there were parts of him that I'm pretty sure I could never understand. But not that. My father was willing to kill someone in cold blood if it was what he had to do to protect us. It went against his nature to allow him to live, he would have taken every child Ser Meran hurt afterwards onto his own soul if he had.

Alessa gets that from him, too.

_Bethany also gets that from him, though no one would realize how true that was until many years later. That concluded her story and for the record, she seemed to feel a bit better afterward. I think it was a rare occasion she got to get that type of thing off her chest. –S.M._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art and science of asking questions is the source of all knowledge -Thomas Berger


	20. Primeval

_It is not history which uses men as a means of achieving - as if it were an individual person - its own ends. History is nothing but the activity of men in pursuit of their ends.  
_

\- **Karl Marx**

* * *

Hawke was back up on the pillars again. This time it was Varric who was nervous about it. "Don't get too close, Hawke."

She was crouched a safe enough distance away from the lyrium vein sending spikes of red stone out of the surrounding rock. She glanced over at him. "I won't touch it, Varric." Her voice was surprisingly sober. She was fascinated, as usual, but cautious. She shook her head. "Have you ever heard of this? Red lyrium?"

"Never. Neither has Bartrand or any other dwarf with us," Varric said. "Bartrand is already counting the money this could bring."

"I can feel it from here," Anders muttered, rubbing his temples.

To Varric's relief, Hawke climbed down then, avoiding any other of the lyrium veins. Fenris stepped forward, offering her a hand and helping her down. She looked like she should have been joining Isabela on a ship today instead of crawling around in caves. She was wearing a vest and loose pants tucked into knee high boots, her ever present pack, and a loose jacket over it. Like Isabela, as well, she had a fondness for adding a bit of color, in this case a swathe of soft red material acting as a belt. He rather liked it; he made a note to put her in that outfit for his stories.

Fenris laid his hands on her waist when she was in reach and lifted her off the outcropping she'd stepped onto like she weighed no more than a feather, setting her on the ground. His hands lingered for a moment longer than was strictly necessary and Hawke looked up at him, a swift, bright smile flitting across her lips for a moment before Fenris dropped his hands and stood back. Well, whatever tension that had been between the two seemed to have been resolved. But was that a hint of red Varric saw rising on the elf's face? He rather thought it _was_.

He turned his gaze out toward the thaig, just as awed as he'd been when they'd first entered it. Red lyrium threaded through walls that were still almost fully intact. In parts of it, you could almost expect to see a band of merchants come 'round the corner, arguing business. Pillars and stairs, buildings and grand chambers, all carved out of stone with perfect precision. Dwarven architecture had, as Hawke put it, an almost painful symmetry to it. Every wall met at the exact right angle, every lantern carved along a bridge was the exact same size and the exact same distance apart. Varric had never given it much thought- he'd been born on the surface -but looking at it through Hawke's eyes turned it from a mere collection of old buildings to an architectural wonder. That, Varric decided, was Hawke in a nutshell; she not only made you see the fascination she had with how the world worked, she made you share it.

Bartrand, however, was not interested in the wonders of their race's history. The deeper into the thaig they went, the more dangerous things got. After the spiders, they'd lost two mercenaries and had damned near lost Anders when they'd been blindsided by a dragon a couple days back. Today, Bartrand had activated a stone golem, which was something none of them had come across before.

_At least we know the dos and don'ts of fighting one now,_ Varric thought, rubbing his still aching side. The thing had packed a hard punch. It had taken Anders wearing it down with spells and he and Hawke luring it onto traps before they'd figured out a pattern to fighting it.

They weren't coming across many darkspawn anymore, but the golem made Varric nervous. There was a reason dwarves used them to guard shit and a reason they were feared. They were tough opponents to anyone and he didn't relish the thought of fighting one right after the other. Unfortunately, while so many new and exotic enemies made he and Hawke want to err on the side of caution, it only seemed to make Bartrand want to press on further and faster. He ignored their concerns and pushed them to their limits. It was only when several of the remaining mercenaries and scouts balked and flat out refused to go further without rest that they had made camp, and only after enduring a fit of screaming rage at them on Bartrand's part. After he'd stomped away to cool off and everyone started to make camp, Hawke had drifted over to him, clearly worried. He couldn't blame her. This wasn't the first time Bartrand had shown unreasonable expectations in his quest for more and more profit, but with the discovery of this thaig being so much more than they expected his desire for profit and glory was starting to edge into fanaticism. Even his mercenaries were starting to look at him warily and that wasn't good.

"Varric."

Hawke's voice drew him out of his thoughts. She and Isabela had been poking around and had found a door that opened into an odd corridor decorated with pillars of volcanic rock and lined by half hardened veins of lava. Hawke motioned him through and led the way down the corridor, Anders and Fenris following. The corridor entered in another heavy door that opened into a grand chamber. Isabela was waiting for them, spinning a dagger in her fingers idly, looking around. Pillars lined a walkway, stretching far, far above their heads into an arching ceiling of natural stone. Isabela raised an eyebrow. "We've got something interesting here."

Varric followed her pointing finger up a set of stairs that led up onto a large platform. Dead in its center was a stone alter of some sort. The first thing he noticed as he came closer was an odd ringing in the air, a vibration that rattled his eardrums. Varric caught a flash of red light and came up to the alter slowly, his eyes widening. Hawke moved around to the other side, speaking in a hushed voice. "It looks like some kind of assembly chamber." Hawke pointed to the other end of the platform where a door stood. "Someone could walk out there and address the people at the bottom of the stairs. Or preach to them." She looked down at the object on the alter. "This certainly seems to be set up as an object of worship."

It was an elaborately carved figurine of a vaguely feminine shape made out of the red lyrium. Hawke was frowning as she stared at it and Anders kept his distance a few paces behind her, his arms crossed tightly, looking troubled.

"What's that you got there?" Bartrand's voice barked from behind them. Varric turned to find him standing at the foot of the stairs, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "It's an idol carved out of pure lyrium, I think!" he said gleefully. "Could be worth a fortune."

"I know several people would pay out the ass for something like that," Isabela agreed, her eyes shining with interest. And a hint of avarice Varric was quite certain echoed in his own. Hard not to count the gold in your head.

Bartrand whistled. "Could be right. Excellent find."

Fenris made a warning sound behind them. "Be careful, Hawke."

Varric turned to find Hawke carefully picking up the idol, looking it over. Fenris was standing behind her, frowning a bit, and Varric noted his markings were glowing faintly. In response to the lyrium in the idol, maybe?

"I don't recognize the figure," Hawke said, sounding intrigued. "It doesn't look like a dwarf."

Varric rolled his eyes at her in good humor. "You can do an in depth study of it when we get it back to Kirkwall, Hawke." He held out his hand for it and she gave it over. An odd look passed over her face and she rubbed her temples. Varric understood why a moment later. Even through his gloves, his skin tingled from the touch of the thing. "We'll take a look around, see if there's anything further in." He turned and tossed the idol to Bartrand and truthfully, he wasn't sorry to see it go.

Hawke was rubbing her hands over her arms as if trying to rid herself of the feel of it, her brow furrowed. "Varric, maybe that thing should be wrapped up and locked in a chest or something…"

Varric considered having that thing exposed and ringing in their ears all the way back to Kirkwall and shivered a bit, nodding in agreement. He turned to call down to Bartrand just in time to see the door they had come through swinging closed. He hurried down the stairs, the others following him. The door only opened inward on a track set into the floor, like all the doors, and was set seamlessly into the doorframe, barely a crack to show the difference between it and the wall. Only now did Varric notice that there was no way to open it from this side. "Bartrand!" He called out to his brother, hoping he hadn't moved too far away to hear. "Bartrand, the door shut behind you!"

A low chuckle came from just on the other side of the door, much closer than Varric expected. It took him a moment to recognize it as his brother's. "You always did notice everything, Varric."

Beside him, Hawke pulled in a sharp breath and Varric froze as those words sank in. "You're joking…you're going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?"

"Not just the idol! The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune! And I'm not splitting that three ways!" Bartrand hit the door once from the other side. "Sorry, brother."

Shock and disbelief gave way to anger and Varric slammed a fist on the door, calling his brother's name, unable to grasp that he truly was going to leave them there to die. It was Isabela who caught his hand before he did it any real damage, her face grim.

Hawke studied the door silently for a long moment before turning away. "Well, this is problematic…"

* * *

"I swear I'm going to find that son of a bitch- sorry, Mother –and I will kill him," Varric muttered. Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Varric had been muttering similar declarations from the moment they'd left the chamber behind. He was bound and determined to survive this for the sheer pleasure of spiting his brother.

They'd debated back and forth for a bit at the door. After a few tries, they had come to the conclusion that no spell Anders possessed, nor any of Hawke's alchemical tricks were powerful enough to blast through the thick stone door. Their only real option was to take their chances with the door behind the alter, heading deeper into the thaig.

The elf's amusement faded as he realized Hawke had gotten ahead of them again. He didn't see Isabela either, only Anders a few steps ahead. Scowling, he quickened his pace, not trusting Anders to protect her…them…properly.

Not trusting Anders at all, for that matter.

The thaig only seemed to get older the deeper they went into it. With Hawke and Varric's combined knowledge of the dwarven language, they had both confirmed what writing they could make out on the walls was a much older version of the language and there were distinct differences in their surroundings now. The stone formations were less carved, lending their shape more toward the natural stone of the caverns around them. It was like a rougher version of the thaig behind them. More…primeval.

A shout from Isabela came from ahead of them. Fenris ran forward to find the pirate engaged with…

"Bloody flames, what _is_ that thing?" Varric stopped a few paces away and brought Bianca up. "Keep clear, Rivaini!"

Isabela shouted something that couldn't be heard and Fenris circled around the creature, careful to give Varric a clear shot. His markings flared with no help from him as he got near. At first he thought it was a stone golem using red lyrium, causing it to burn red instead of white, like the others they'd encountered. But he didn't think so; it looked like the remains of a skeleton sheathed in a thick armor of rock, magic burning the air around it.

One good thing, and he hated to admit it, was that it seemed as vulnerable to the mage's ice spells as stone golems were. It made horrible sounds as it swung at them, the air around it humming. Not a growl but a guttural rumbling that sounded greedy and filled with hunger. "Where is Hawke?" he demanded as the creature finally crumbled.

"She got dragged away when that thing attacked. Some kind of Shade grabbed her!" Anders yelled, already moving down the corridor.

Fenris cursed in his native tongue. Shades were minor demons that had adapted to the real world. The fact they were apparently gathering around these things was not good. He charged after Anders, Isabela and Varric close at his heels. They came around a set of stairs to find Hawke running across the room toward him. There were indeed a small group of Shades after her, but there were also more of the red golems. Hawke leaped nimbly onto a large, slanted rock that had apparently fallen from the ceiling and ran up its surface, spinning around when she hit the middle and hurling one of her concoctions at the group. It hit the floor amidst them and exploded, scattering the Shades but doing little to the red golems except send them stumbling.

It gave the rest of them a small window of opportunity to get an attack in. As always in any battle, Fenris' mind sidestepped into what was almost a trance. Everything narrowed down to the sword in his hand and the enemy in front of him. While normally a blade would have had little effect on the golem's stone form, the size and weight of the greatsword worked in his favor. Pieces of stone flew from the broken core of the golem and it let out one of those hungry, guttural roars, lashing out at him. He ducked clear and, on an impulse, drove a glowing fist dead into its center. The creature screamed as a pulse of energy struck it, staggering back and falling apart right before Fenris' eyes, crumbling away to nothing.

He heard the scrape of stone against stone behind him even as Hawke called his name frantically. The tingle of energy from his fist spread throughout his entire body, light speeding along every line of lyrium buried in his flesh. It was painful, dredging up terrible memories of the ritual that had drawn them there, but he forced it back as he turned to face the incoming golem. He only faded for a few seconds, but it was enough. The thing swung at him, the momentum carrying it into him…and _through_ him. For an instant as it passed through, the lyrium markings came into contact with the glowing core of it. The result was explosive, sending out a wave of energy that jolted him back into a flesh and blood state and blowing the golem apart completely. Razor edged shards of stone flew every which way, peppering the elf's form as he fell back. He hit the ground on his back, swamped in agony, his entire body on fire. Blood sheeted over his eye and for an instant he thought he was blind, his head ringing, unable to see.

… _the featherlight stroke of a brush over his skin…the thrum of magic passing_ through _him and_ in _him and then it was_ crawling _all over him, like white hot maggots burrowing into his flesh, eating him down to the bone…_

Someone grabbed hold of him and it _hurt_. Flailing blindly, he shoved with one hand, barely aware of weight being pushed away from him and a faint cry. He couldn't tell if he'd killed it, he couldn't see anything. He tried to push to his feet, but his limbs wouldn't obey him. The only thing he could manage was a half crawl that took him backward. His mind was a whirl of panic, he had the faint idea that if he could get to some kind of shelter, some kind of safety ( _idiocy, there was nowhere safe nowhere)_ he could figure out a way to defend himself, give himself a chance to rest. Give himself a chance to clear his mind of the whirl of barely comprehensible images. He tensed, expecting another attack. It didn't come. He went still, trying to clear whatever was blocking his vision. The left one seemed to be glued shut somehow and he swiped at it.

"Oh, Fenris, don't do that…" The voice was high, distressed, and female. Not the roar of an enemy or Denarius' mocking tone. Fenris froze, confused, the babble of voices that had been in the background becoming clear for the first time.

"Hawke, let me take care of that burn first…"

"Hey, elf! Elf! Calm down, you're okay…"

A second female voice: "Shit, look what it did to his _face…"_ Hadriana? No, that couldn't be her; Hadriana had a voice like a screech owl.

"Fenris!" The first voice came again, much closer than the others. He flinched back, one hand held out, but he hesitated. He _knew_ that voice.

_At Shartan's word, the sky grew black with arrows._

That beautiful voice…

"Fenris." She said his name again, much softer. "Fenris, can you hear me? It's Hawke."

Hawke. Fenris breathed out a shuddering sigh, and even that movement pained him. The burning pain of the markings had faded but that only allowed him to focus on the throbbing agony that took up the left side of his face. He blinked, managing to see blearily through the right eye.

"Shit, that rock wraith did a number on him."

That was Varric. Sanity slowly started to return through his mind, the whirlwind of images and memories fading, allowing him to focus on the world around him. Varric. Isabela. Anders. Hawke. He was among allies.

A hand touched his arm lightly and he twitched. The hand jerked back and he heard the person…Hawke…shift back. He wanted to frown even though the pain. Was she afraid? She didn't have to be afraid. He would never hurt her…

"Fenris." She touched him again, this time on one of his gauntlets, the faintest pressure.

"Hawke, be _careful_." A voice he recognized as Anders's snapped from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. "I need water."

"On it." Footsteps pattered away.

"Fenris, can you hear me?" she asked again.

He answered her this time, his voice hoarse. "Hawke…"

She moved closer, he could make out some of her features now. She was pale, her duel colored eyes wide. "Fenris, your eye…we have to take care of it…" She held out a cautious hand, waiting to see how he reacted. He held still, unable to keep from flinching when she finally touched the uninjured side of his face, but he didn't stop her.

"It has to be cleaned before I can heal it, Hawke," Anders said. "If the rock took out his eye…"

"Shush." Hawke slowly moved up beside him. Slender fingers brushed his hair away from his forehead. The gesture was indescribably gentle, a sensation so foreign to him it was almost painful. He couldn't remember anyone touching him with gentleness like that. Except Denarius, and that kind of gentleness didn't hide the viciousness behind the gesture. "Fenris, this is going to hurt. I'm sorry."

"Take those damned claws off before you touch him," Anders said. "If he hits you again, it won't do as much damage."

He understood enough now to know the rock had damaged his face, that it was blood sealing his left eye shut. And that it was bad, he could tell that from the tone of her voice. He nodded to show he understood, bracing himself. He let them pull his gauntlets off. Hawke slid one hand behind his head, holding him steady. The other…

A low, pained sound came from his throat before he could stop it and Hawke paused, giving him a moment before she started again. He realized the sharp pricks of pain were shards of stone being pulled out and their words sank in, sending a tremor of fear through him. Had he lost his eye? He couldn't tell.

It seemed to take ages, forever. Hawke spoke to him quietly, her voice calm, explaining what she was doing, that she had to get all of the rock out. At one point, she used tweezers from her pack to get the smaller shards of rock out. He was leaning back against a rock by then, Hawke bent over him. Her face was set in stern lines, concentrating on the task, but occasionally, she brushed the fingers of her other hand very lightly along the uninjured side of his face or brushed his hair away from his eyes in an unconsciously soothing gesture.

She finally leaned back and twisted a bit. Fenris heard the sound of cloth tearing. Isabela made a tsking noise somewhere off to the side. "That's just a crime, such pretty cloth…"

"Oh, you shush too," Hawke said without any real rancor. "I only have the healing supplies we were carrying with us, Bartrand took those too, the bastard."

"We had most of the potions though, that's one thing in our favor," Varric said from behind her somewhere.

She poured water from the waterskin Varric had brought her onto a piece of red cloth and moved to him again. He felt the wet swipe of it over his eye, and then another. The blood gluing it shut came away from the lid and he cautiously cracked the eye open. He flinched almost immediately, feeling the sting of water and bits of dried blood, but that was actually a relief, because he could feel it and he could see.

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. "It missed your eye. Thank the Maker. It was close, but it missed."

She used the cloth to clean the wound completely then looked to Anders, who knelt on his other side. "Can you fix it?"

Anders nodded. "Compared to some of the things that come through the clinic, this is nothing." His expression was less genial than Hawke's. He looked about as glad to be near him as Fenris was to have him near. Hawke narrowed her eyes at him, her voice taking on a stern note. "Let him heal you, Fenris. You can't walk around down here with a wound like that. An infection could still damage your eye, and there's also the Taint to worry about. We're still in the Deep Roads."

He couldn't argue with that, much as he would like to. Anders reached out, a faint glow touching his eyes as he laid a hand on the wounds. He was treated to another slew of new sensations as his flesh knit itself together, heat flaring along the lines of lyrium up his neck and face, the pain fading away to nothing. When Anders pulled his hand back, shaking it with an odd expression, Fenris raised a hand up wonderingly to his cheek, his fingers only coming into contact with smooth skin. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, glancing at the stone faced mage beside him. "Thank you." The words were like vinegar on his tongue, but even he had a sense of propriety and the mage _had_ healed him.

"You have Hawke to thank, not me," Anders said, rising to his feet and moving away.

Hawke was squinting at him, as if reassuring herself the wound was gone, and nodded once. She swiped the cloth across his neck and jaw to clean away the remaining blood and grime. He looked at her. It was no struggle at all to offer thanks to her. "I thank you, Hawke."

She smiled at him, laying a finger alongside his jaw where a single line of lyrium traced the underside of it. "A larger shard of rock nicked you there."

He touched his fingers to the spot. There was indeed, a small break in the line now. "Would you believe that's the first time that's ever happened? Won't that displease Denarius."

"I certainly hope so."

"Aw, look, he's all pretty again," Isabela said, grinning. She offered Fenris a hand up, which he took, taking a moment to steady himself on his feet. He must have looked pretty pitiful, because Isabela let his hand go without lingering.

"We might as well set up a camp here," Varric said. "I don't think any of us are in any condition to go on tonight. Or is it day? Who knows."

No one argued with him. Fenris could still feel shaky weakness in his limbs he despised, but he didn't trust himself in another battle unless he absolutely had to do it. He had pushed himself beyond this before and the results had been unpleasant. Anders was also looking pale and drawn, his casting taking its toll despite the lyrium potion Hawke had urged him to take.

As they moved to settle behind a relatively safe shelter of rocks, Fenris moved back to the place he'd been laying earlier to retrieve his gauntlets. A flash of color caught his eye. The rest of Hawke's scarf, which she had torn to use as a cloth to clean his wound, was crumpled up near the wall. He glanced up, but no one was watching him. The elf reached down and picked it up, twining the soft cloth around his fingers for a moment before tucking it away amongst his supplies.

* * *

Fenris' assumption that the beasts were golems turned out to be incorrect. Hawke had heard Varric call them rock wraiths, which she had never heard of before. The dwarf shook his head, looking uncharacteristically grim. "According to legend, they are dwarves so corrupt the Stone itself rejected them. They wander the Deep Roads forever, caught in a state between life and death. No one really paid much attention to those legends, but once in a while someone will stumble out of the Deep Roads babbling about creatures of rock and bone."

"Looks like they were lucky they were able to stumble out at all," Hawke said.

None of them had the courage to speak out loud what they all knew just yet: they were alone now, without a party behind them to act as a cavalry and their supplies were short. There were springs of water here and there but Hawke wasn't even sure if boiling it would make it safe to drink.

They rested, taking turns keeping watch. None of the creatures attacked them, but there was no doubt there were more of them ahead.

"I'm getting truly sick of looking at stalagmites. Or are they stalactites? Shit, I don't know," Varric muttered.

"You're right, they're stalagmites. Stalactites are on the ceiling." Hawke leaned back against a wall, fighting off tiredness. Ticking down a list of their options didn't make her feel any better. _We could go back. Line up every alchemical supply I have left that will make an explosion around the door and have Anders level a few fire based spells at it. It could work._ But it probably wouldn't and then they would have wasted time, resources and energy they couldn't afford. _Plus, Bartrand isn't completely stupid and he's paranoid, a perfect combination to ensure he did something to make sure even if we got past the door, we wouldn't be able to get out. If he collapsed a tunnel or something, we'd be even worse off than before._ She ran her fingers absently over the pink, newly healed skin on her collarbone. It still stung a little and she made herself drop her hand. When Fenris had pushed her away, his hand had still been glowing. Part of her skin had been protected by her vest, but lying over the left side of her collarbone, there was a clear imprint of part of a hand: a thumb, the first finger and part of the middle finger. _No, going back isn't an option. We have to keep going and hope we make it to some kind of opening to the surface before our supplies give out. At least we know now that Fenris has to be careful using his abilities against these things, he might have gotten hurt much worse from that reaction._ She glanced over at Fenris, who was sleeping across the small fire from Anders. Physically, those two were likely to face the worst, so they needed to rest up. _We were lucky this time around. They must be feeding on all this red lyrium, who knows what it might have made them._ They had fought four of them so far, plus twice as many of the demons that followed them around. She had no idea why the demons were drawn to them, neither did Anders.

She glanced over at the corridor ahead of them. Before, this thaig, even older than the dwarves' recorded history, had seemed to stretch out as a puzzle to be explored and solved, countless new things to find.

Now, she could only think of how far ahead they might go and how many of the rock wraiths were between them and freedom.

Varric, still standing beside her, echoed her thoughts out loud. "Caught between a rock and a hard place. Literally. It's safer heading back the way we came, but there's no way out."

"We have to go forward to get back," Hawke murmured in agreement, a bit of humor in her tone.

Varric looked at her. "We're in real trouble here, Hawke, aren't we?"

She opened her eyes. "Yes."


	21. One More Link in the Chain

_Life consists not in holding good cards but in playing those you hold well._

**\- Josh Billings**

* * *

There was only one reason Templars showed up in Darktown, Bethany thought as she quietly packed as much as she could in her small satchel. They wouldn't dirty the soles of their boots in the place unless they were looking for something…or someone…specifically.

Such a simple thing. A collision of everyone being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just a little girl who had sprained her wrist. Bethany hadn't felt good about letting her go home by herself that close to evening, so she had followed. Sure enough, a man had come out of the shadows without noticing Bethany, intent on his prey. She threw him halfway across the street right as she caught the gleam of armor out of the corner of her eye.

Somehow, Bethany had known the day would come when she'd be forced to choose between protecting someone and maintaining her anonymity. She'd thought it would Alessa or her mother she would have to protect, but that had been when it was just the three of them…well, and Uncle Gamlen.

But with the addition of her friends like Isabela and Anders and Varric, there was a sense of responsibility to the clinic and the people in it since Anders had trusted her to help run it. Not only the patients, but the mages that Anders was helping escape or pass through Kirkwall.

Much later on in their lives, it would be Alessa who asked her if she deliberately set herself in the Templars' path. Anders never asked her; he already knew. At the time, she had thought she was protecting the clinic and her mother, but upon retrospect, her fear of going to the Circle actually started to fade as the idea of it became closer to reality.

Bethany glanced at the door to her mother's room and laid a note on the table. Not the kindest way to say goodbye, but her mother would do whatever was in her power to stop her and Bethany didn't want to face that fight. She was only happy Alessa wasn't here. She didn't even want to think about her sister's reaction. The only person who knew already was Rhea. She wasn't happy about it, but the need to protect the clinic ran even deeper in her than it did in Bethany.

Ser Alrik, the templar who had spotted her, was coming out of the Viscount's Keep when she reached it. If he had been alone, she would have turned right around and just gone to the Gallows herself rather than seeking a templar out. There was something wrong with that man. It was in his eyes, the way he seemed to have to force his expression out of a leer.

But Knight Captain Cullen was with him too. Alessa and Varric had met him about a month ago when they were helping Aveline investigate some disappearances around Kirkwall. Several of them had been Templars, which had gotten the order involved. A blood mage had been forcing possessions on mage and templar alike- between him and his group and the blood mage they'd come across a couple weeks earlier, she had seen more blood mages in a year than she had all her life –and they'd rescued one of them. She wasn't quite sure what she felt about Alessa's glee over the fact the templars were just as susceptible as the mages, but Alessa _had_ mentioned Cullen seemed the decent sort…for a Templar.

"We should have the Rite ready and waiting the moment she's brought in," Alrik was saying eagerly as they came into earshot.

"That isn't for you to decide," Cullen said shortly.

"You didn't see this mage, Captain! I'm not sure even five men would be enough. Remember the incident in the Chantry…" he trailed off and both men stopped as they caught sight of her, standing there patiently.

Alrik pulled his sword and pointed it at her. "Stand where you are, apostate!"

Bethany didn't reply, simply looking at him. She didn't need to make any comment; her silence turned that ridiculous posturing into a joke all by itself. Alrik flushed red, but before he could say anything, Cullen was moving toward her, gesturing at his subordinate to put his sword away. He was studying her with furrowed brows. "Bethany Hawke?"

"Yes. I've come to turn myself over to the Circle, Knight Captain."

"It's a trick, ser!" Alrik snapped.

"No trick." Bethany's voice was quiet. "I was hoping if I come willingly and without a fight, you might consider letting my family go."

Alrik sneered at her. "How noble."

"Ser Alrik." Cullen turned his head and looked over his shoulder at the other templar. "Go fetch Vera and Calor. Wait at the stairs, I'll be there to join you shortly."

Alrik looked like he'd been slapped. "But, Captain…"

"That's an order." Cullen didn't raise his voice, but there was an edge of steel to it now. Alrik looked like he wanted to argue but that tone quelled him. He shot Bethany a baleful look as he strode off. Cullen turned his attention back to her. "Harboring an apostate is a very serious crime in Kirkwall. You have to know that."

"I do."

"Will you put up a fight if I don't agree? Even knowing you can't win?"

"Yes," Bethany said simply. Now her voice had a steely edge and Cullen could see she meant it. At that moment, she reminded him vividly of another young mage he'd known once. She had that same quiet strength and cool resolve. He would never say, especially not with the Knight Commander around, that his agreement to her terms didn't truly come from wanting to keep the peace as much as it came from how much Bethany Hawke reminded him of Malaina at that moment.

"Very well." He took hold of her arm, his grip firm but not crushing. "Bethany Hawke, I will escort you to the Gallows and turn you over to the First Enchanter. I'll send someone to inform your family."

Leandra didn't take the news well at all. She sat staring blankly into the fire for two days afterward; enough Gamlen was genuinely starting to worry. It was only when Alessa returned shaken but alive from the Deep Roads that Leandra could finally be stirred to leave the house.

* * *

One thing that categorized a successful demon was an exquisite sense of timing.

Hawke figured the thing had been watching them for some time, gauging the exact moment when it didn't want more of its feast- the Profane –destroyed and when the group was at the right level of desperation to appear before them.

Even exhausted, Alessa couldn't help but be fascinated by the fact a demon had possessed one of the rock wraiths. They couldn't just be constructs, then, because constructs could not be possessed. They had to be alive…or completely dead. A Hunger Demon, according to Anders. Which made sense. The rock wraiths, or Profane, as the demon proclaimed them, were nothing but hunger, forever trying to sate it with the lyrium in the walls. Their insatiable nature made them a smorgasbord for such a creature.

Two days, by Alessa's estimation. Two days of struggling and they had barely made any progress further into the thaig. The Profane and the shades feeding off them were _everywhere._ Each time they thought they found a way around them, they reappeared or blindsided them. Varric had very nearly been killed when he'd turned a corner and come face to face with two of them at once.

They wouldn't survive at the rate they were going, not with the supplies they had. Even if they got to a place the rock wraiths wouldn't go, they wouldn't have supplies enough to get through the rest of the journey.

They might not have enough anyway, but for certain they wouldn't if they had to battle constantly and then stop to rest only for a few hours. It was taking its toll on all of them.

That was when the demon had shown itself and offered a trade. It exerted a certain amount of control over the Profane. Enough it could order them not to attack. It also knew a door to the surface. The price? Well, that was the problem.

A rock wraith so old and powerful even the demon could not control or defeat it stood between them and the possibility of freedom. It came down, Varric said dully, to whether they wanted to fight a whole bunch of little ones plus the demon possessed one…or take their chances with the really big one.

Seemed like an easy choice at the time, despite Anders and Fenris objecting.

Alessa pushed herself to her feet shakily, every muscle in her body aching from being thrown against a pillar. Hands took a hold of her arms and pulled her behind it as the air started to vibrate, hurting her ears. The source was a churning ball of energy and rock in the center of the vault. It was the second time the ancient rock wraith had done this, and they knew to grab shelter this time around. She dimly felt someone pressing her closer to the pillar, bending over her, a lithe body shielding hers as the vibration in the air became a roar and a blast of wind and energy plowed through the chamber.

The weight shielding her disappeared and she heard Fenris' voice in her ear. "Get to Isabela." Then he was charging around the pillar, his markings glowing so brightly it was almost blinding.

_Isabela._

The thought had Hawke shakily pushing herself to her feet and stumbling around the pillar, searching around for the last place she had seen the pirate. She hadn't gotten out of the way in time the first time the rock wraith had done its damned trick.

It hadn't hit her directly. Hawke kept repeating that over and over again as she circled around the open area where Fenris was attacking the rock wraith furiously. After it released energy in an attack like that, it seemed to need a minute to gather itself, making it vulnerable for a brief window. Varric ran out to aid Fenris, catching Hawke's eye and pointing toward a corner of the chamber. She veered in that direction, breaking into a run as the rock wraith started to stir. Anders appeared from another part of the chamber, calling something she couldn't make out, his staff whirling. In a show of synchronicity they were not capable of outside of battle, Fenris kept the rock wraith occupied for a moment, giving Anders time to queue up a spell, before dodging out of the way and giving the mage a clear shot.

Hawke spotted a crumpled form ahead and hurried forward, dropping beside it. Isabela had indeed managed to keep from being hit directly by the rock wraith's energy, but it had caught one side of her. Her arm had taken the brunt of it, burns etching her olive skin. Hawke dug around in her pack. The potions she made personally were measured into small bottles and a couple large ones which held the biggest dose of potion it was safe to have at one time. She had one large one left and jerked it free from the pack, pulling Isabela up and slapping her lightly until her eyes flickered. She tipped the potion against the other woman's lips. Isabela coughed as the first bit of potion drizzled down her throat, and then her uninjured arm came up and gingerly took hold of the bottle, her throat working as she started to swallow it down. The potion went to work immediately. It wouldn't fix everything, but the burn on her arm faded considerably, the cracked, blackened skin knitting together and smoothing out until it was an angry red mark on her skin.

Isabela coughed and opened her eyes, blinking up at Hawke without recognition for a long moment, then her expression cleared and she turned a glare toward the rock wraith. Hawke took a hold of her elbow and hauled her up. Isabela stumbled to her feet with a pained grunt, using Hawke as a support for a moment while she steadied herself. "Think the idea of facing an army of the little ones and then facing this thing will make Fenris and the mage quit bitching?"

"No."

Isabela snorted out a laugh and gathered her daggers up. "Come on, Hawke, we can't let the boys have all the fun."

"Isabela…"

"I'm fine, don't be dreary." Isabela sauntered toward the center of the chamber like she was headed toward a party instead of a life or death battle. Hawke had little choice but to follow.

Isabela shouted and whirled, dragging Hawke out of the way as the rock wraith pulled another one of its little tricks, disappearing into the ground and reforming itself out of Fenris' reach, right in front of Isabela and Hawke. It swung at them with a heavy stone arm and they both rolled out of the way.

And then the thing stumbled, rocking forward as Varric fired a series of shots straight at the glowing center of it. Hawke felt a surge of hope. That flickering energy was definitely dimmer than it had been when the thing had first attacked, and its movements were becoming more disjointed. In a desperate move, it levitated off the ground and hovered in the air, its form turning into a ball. Hawke dove for a pillar, rolling behind one and coming up against Varric as the thing released a wave of energy again. But it wasn't as strong as the last one and the stones that made up its form fell in a rain around its core as it tumbled to the ground, dazed again. Fenris flew out from around a pillar and struck at it. Varric pulled himself up, shooting Hawke a wild look. "It's dying, Hawke! We've got the bastard!"

She lunged after him, shaking her last explosive bottle and rushing up to the beast as it started to pull itself together again. She jammed the vibrating bottle in between two of its rocks and motioned for everyone to get away. Anders shouted something and slammed the bottle with a spell, making the explosion twice as powerful, actually blowing one of the thing's arms off and sending it flying across the chamber. Of course, it came floating right back a few minutes later, but the damage to the creature was done. It was visibly stumbling as it moved now. Making a rumbling sound that was ten times worse than the hungry rumbling of its lesser kin. It made her stomach drop and her ears hurt.

But it was weaker than it had been.

Varric shouted a warning as the creature disappeared through the ground and reappeared mere feet from her. Hawke managed to spin out of the way in time to avoid the full force of the blow it aimed at her. It clipped her side, slamming her into the ground. Varric snarled a curse in the dwarven language and launched another volley of arrows into its center. Almost immediately after, Anders hit it with another spell, and mere seconds after _that_ Fenris came flying out of nowhere, dealing the creature's skeletal center a crushing blow. The thing let out a hissing screech, hanging in the air for a moment before it simply fell apart, becoming nothing more than a pile of rubble, the red energy powering it fading away.

The five of them stood in a circle around it, looking at each other. They were all a mess, bloodied and beaten within an inch of their lives, but still alive, and victorious.

They'd destroyed a creature that even a demon feared.

* * *

Of course, he and Hawke had planned on screwing the demon over from the very start.

That didn't make Varric any less annoyed when the thing reappeared in front of them, demanding they take the key to the surface and leave, claiming the rest of it for its own.

The rest of it being piles upon piles of gold, jewels, and scrolls enough to make the fortune Bartrand was going to get for the idol look like a pittance.

The demon, selfish bastard that it was, threatened them viciously. But after the damned rock wraith, the threats rang hollow. They'd earned the treasure, dammit, they'd earned it ten times over. What was the hunger demon going to do with all of it down here anyway? Even as Hawke glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow, he brought Bianca up. The demon growled, but again, after the rock wraith they'd just faced…well it sounded like a kitten after hearing a tiger roar in your ear.

Bianca was more than happy to show her disdain of the thing, firing bolts straight into the center of it in rapid succession. The demon collapsed, howling, finished off with embarrassing ease. "Bianca says, 'The treasure is ours'."

After the trials deep within the thaig, even darkspawn seemed dull in comparison. Varric never forgot the way Hawke's eyes lit up when they reached the surface, how excited she was at the thought of being able to get her mother and her sister out of the slums and hopefully back into the family's old mansion. They'd done the impossible and come out with more riches than they ever could have imagined, the whole world seemed to be at their feet.

The day after they stumbled back into Kirkwall, Varric learned that Bethany had been taken to the Circle. Stunned and upset, Hawke came to the Hanged Man to tell him about it. He'd never felt more sorry for her than he did right then. So much of her life had been focused on protecting her sister and she had ultimately failed right when she had thought she would be able to keep her safe for life.

Of course, it took Hawke a long time to accept that Bethany was content in the Circle, at least for the first couple of years. Bethany was relieved to be able to practice magic without endangering her family, to be surrounded by mages, even if they were basically imprisoned.

She was put through her Harrowing- the test all mages had to pass to prove they could withstand the call of demons in the Fade -almost immediately at the Knight Commander's order. Everyone expected her to fail, and the Templars present- Ser Alrik in particular -were all a bit perturbed by how easily Bethany passed, entering the Circle's senior levels and under the First Enchanter's supervision.

Of course, when Thrask came to the Hanged Man and told Hawke her sister had passed the Harrowing, Hawke had looked at him like he was and idiot and replied simply: "Of course she did."

Varric called those two events that gave each of the Hawke sisters a foothold in Kirkwall's structure yet another link in the great city's chain. And even though it was Hawke who stepped forward to take the main part in the drama that unfolded over the next few years, Varric was willing to bet one of the things Knight Commander Meredith Stannard regretted in the final years was not killing Bethany Hawke when she had the chance.


	22. The Growing Wind

_We used to think that revolutions are the cause of change. Actually it is the other way around: change prepares the ground for revolution._

**\- Eric Hoffer**

* * *

**9:40 Dragon**

_In Kirkwall, the wind stirs. The tattered cloth that was once the sail of a great qunari dreadnought flaps, the snap of it echoing over the ruins of the spot in Lowtown that still reminds people of the qunari group that once lived there. It rushes through the now empty Hawke Estate, setting papers and dust dancing in its wake. It swirls leaves and grit against the windows of the people who remain in the city, hunkering down as another battle between mages and templars explodes into being on the streets. It swoops over the sea, whistling through the jagged remains of the Gallows. It rattles the scaffolding around the remains of the Kirkwall Chantry, easily the most ghostly place in a city whose very foundations are built upon ghosts. And in Lowtown, the wind sweeps down the length of an avenue that leads directly down to the docks, the sound of the wind clashing with the sound of the sea…_

* * *

**9:32 Dragon**

Fenris had always enjoyed the scent of the sea. Unfortunately, it was always a jarring experience to come from off the cliffs back into Kirkwall. Between the docks and the main street leading up from them, you could sometimes still catch a hint of the sea breeze, but the further up into Kirkwall you went, the more it disappeared beneath the weight of Lowtown's oppressive air.

The rise of street at the edge of Lowdown was a popular place for restaurants and such because the gentle downhill curve of the road gave you a view straight down to the docks and the bay beyond. Hilltop, Markus Tabir's appropriately named café, sat at the peak of that hill. Fenris paused as he started to pass it, seeing a familiar figure at one of the outside tables.

Hawke was flipping through a treaties with a seal on it Fenris now recognized as the mark of the University of Orlais. They all knew about the University; Hawke never shut up about it. She was eating chunks of thick bread torn into bite sized pieces and dipping them in a small bowl of spiced oil; a specialty of Markus'. She didn't even look up when Fenris approached the table, pushing the plate of bread and oil toward him in a silent invitation. "Hunting Tal-Vashoth again?"

"Just bandits this time around," Fenris replied. Varric kept asking him why he still took merc jobs when his share of the gold from the expedition should have kept him well off for a number of years. Well and so, but sometimes he simply needed a way to work off restlessness and nothing quite did that like a fight. And with mercenary work, he could actually get paid for it. He studied the treaties in her hand with interest. He couldn't quite get through one of those yet, though according to Hawke, he was progressing faster than most. He found that hard to believe at times. In fact, it sometimes seemed like he was learning to read at a pace even a child would scoff at. It wasn't Hawke's fault. She was an endlessly patient teacher, weathering the sometimes tempestuous lessons with grace. Fenris was the first to admit he wasn't the easiest of students, especially earlier on, often finding condescension or mockery where there wasn't a hint of either.

It was wanting to just be able to do it that made it all so maddening. It was a wondrous thing to be able to open a book and start to make sense out of what had once meant absolutely nothing to him. It was like having access to an entire world he hadn't been aware of until now. He wanted to be able to pick up any book and be able to see what it contained, but he wasn't quite able to yet. In some ways, Hawke's collection from the University was a prize for that because they were written in a language both familiar and utterly foreign that even she, who seemed able to read anything, admitted to finding challenging.

Hawke glanced up as Nelly, the waitress, came out carrying several covered dishes. She tucked the treaties away and picked up a basket from her feet, setting the dishes inside and dropping several coins into Nelly's hand before she went back inside. She hefted the basket up, catching Fenris' glance. "For Master Palla and Jaim. The other workers have enough sense to eat when they need to but Master Palla doesn't even notice sometimes."

"The renovations are going well, then?" Fenris helped her finish off the bread before joining her as she headed up the street toward Hightown.

"Almost done. We had Mother's rooms and the family wing finished first so Mother could move back in. Now it's just a few other rooms and the library, plus a few cosmetic touches."

The bells were ringing at the Chantry as they crossed the square. The chantry service must have just ended because people were starting to flood out the doors. Fenris noted several stares, some rather hostile, aimed Hawke's way. Hadn't Varric mentioned something about wanting to keep an eye on Hawke because of the Hightown nobles? Frowning a bit, the elf unconsciously shifted so he was between her and the crowd. Not that he expected an attack out here in the middle of broad daylight in the Chantry square, but it still ensured anyone wanting to get to her would have to get through him first.

* * *

Sebastian Vael watched people file out of the chantry, making his way over to where the Grand Cleric was standing just outside the entrance, smiling and greeting people as they passed.

By the time he'd reached her side, she was talking to the Viscount and his son, a small group of nobles gathering around them, heedless of anyone else waiting to see the Elthina.

As it always was.

"It was good to see you in today, Saemus," the Grand Cleric was saying as Sebastian stepped up beside her.

"It was a lovely testimony, Grand Cleric," the boy replied, bowing his head respectfully, though he seemed distracted. Sebastian knew that look all too well. He was trying to figure out an escape route.

"Saemus has been a doing a bit of growing up the past couple of months," Viscount Dumar said a bit too heartily, clapping his son on the shoulder, oblivious to the look Saemus shot him. "That schoolboy fascination with foreign rituals and such. But he knows where his loyalty lies."

"There is nothing wrong with learning about the ways of people outside of our little corner of the world," Grand Cleric Elthina said soothingly, smiling at Saemus.

Saemus wasn't even looking at her, his gaze drawn down the steps of the chantry. His face lit up in such a way Sebastian could have told them who it was even before Saemus gave him and the Grand Cleric a respectful nod and pulled out of his father's grasp, practically bounding down the steps.

The entire group watched him go. Viscount Dumar's lips pressed into a thin line as Saemus came up beside Alessa Hawke, who was making her way across the square carrying a large basket. One of her companions, Fenris, Sebastian was pretty sure that was his name, was walking beside her. He turned sharply as Saemus trotted up to them but Hawke looked up and greeted him with a smile.

"The boy is besotted, Serrah Dumar" Lady Halowell told the Viscount soberly. "You ought to do something about that."

"There are probably very few who could be a worse influence on him," her husband agreed, nodding.

The nobles of Hightown had been abuzz since Leandra Hawke and her daughter had retaken the old Amell Estate, while her other daughter had been taken to the Circle. Alessa Hawke had become somewhat infamous after she had returned from the Deep Roads with enough treasure to buy the estate back and then some. Viscount Dumar had (with some reluctance) accepted Hawke as her grandfather's heir and, by bloodline, a lady of the same pedigree as her mother. He'd had no choice, really. Along with her newfound wealth, her mother had also had a will accepting Leandra and her children as the owners to the estate. In return, Hawke had not made a big deal about the whole affair regarding her uncle and the men who had taken over the estate from them, sparing the Viscount and Seneschal the embarrassment of dealing with it.

Since then, the entire neighborhood had been a madhouse as Hawke stalked from one side of Hightown to the other as she renovated the estate. Aran Palla and his infamous elven apprentice were often seen moving in and out of the estate, which had caused some rumbling amongst the neighbors.

Saemus, either not noticing or not caring who was watching, disappeared around the corner still walking at Hawke's side.

"He's just young," the Viscount said. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"And a romantic, serrah," Lady Halowell said gently. "It's very easy for a young, restless man like him to be ensnared. That Hawke girl is beautiful and must seem very exciting to someone like Saemus. You should find him a good woman to settle him."

"Perhaps you're right…" the Viscount said, frowning thoughtfully.

The family might be moved into Hightown, but the nobles were making it clear that it did _not_ mean they were accepted into society. It irked quite a few of them that Hawke didn't even notice, much less care, Sebastian thought with amusement. Hawke and her friends had been the one that had helped him take down the men who had murdered his family, although Hawke had informed him regretfully that she had not been able to find out who had hired them.

Perhaps now that her expedition was done and she had time, she would be willing to help him look into it, Sebastian thought. His attempt to retake Starkhaven was not going well. Even though rightfully, with the rest of his family dead, he was the legitimate heir, he had found few allies willing to commit men to helping him retake the estate by force. Hawke didn't have the kind of clout or political power to help him with that. But in a mirroring of his own connections to the higher ups of Kirkwall and the surrounding areas that Hawke could never have, she had connections to the underground and criminal networks he couldn't even begin to navigate. Perhaps if he could find the culprits behind his family's downfall, the rest wouldn't matter.

He looked over at Grand Cleric Elthina to find her gazing at him with her soft gray eyes. There was a sadness there, as if she knew his thoughts. He found he couldn't meet her gaze for long, glancing back the way Hawke had gone.

Perhaps if he could find the ones who had been behind the murders, he could find peace.

* * *

Saemus hesitated before he followed Hawke up the path to the Amell estate. Workers were moving in and out, an eclectic mix of elves and dwarves and humans. He gazed around, fascinated. "Where did you find so many people, Serrah Hawke? I haven't seen workers…well…like this…"

"Some of them are acquaintances who were looking for some work and extra coin, but most of them are men Serrah Palla uses when he's building," Hawke replied easily, pausing to look at this or that. "Hang on, we have a little spot set up in the kitchens where I can get you a drink."

"There's no need…" She wasn't listening to him, padding over to where Aran Palla and his young elven apprentice had set up a table in the main hall, bent over it studiously. She set the basket down near them. Palla just gave her an absent nod but the elf sent her an almost pathetically grateful look.

If they had done that to his father, Saemus reflected, they would have been fired on the spot. Hawke just chuckled and patted Jaim's shoulder with sympathy.

The other elf…the scary one...had drifted across the room, Saemus glanced over and his gaze was drawn to the figure he was speaking to. At several points high on the walls, there were small, round windows set with stained glass. Apparently several of them had been damaged because a tall woman was working on them, her face set in a frown of concentration. Saemus' breath caught a bit as she turned her head slightly to say something to Fenris and he took in the pale hair, the bronze skin, and caught a glimpse of small black horns curving up from her brows. Qunari…she was a qunari. He'd never seen her before, hadn't seen any female qunari at all amongst his friends on the outskirts of Kirkwall.

He was so focused on her that he didn't notice Hawke come up beside him. When the qunari woman leaned back, Hawke approached the ladder. "How's it going, Theta?"

"You should have killed them twice over for the damage they did to these windows," Theta said, looking down at her. She caught Saemus' eye and cocked her head. "Serrah Dumar."

Hawke looked over at him. "Oh, right, sorry. Serrah Dumar, this is Theta."

"You're Qunari?" Saemus said, wincing inwardly at how stupid that sounded.

Theta shook her head. "I left the Qun behind long ago."

"Theta is an artist," Hawke said, beaming at her. "One of the finest in Kirkwall."

"Flattery will not make me give you a discount, little stranger."

"You're not charging me anywhere near the proper amount for those repairs and you know it."

"You left the Qun behi…but you're not like the other Tal…" Saemus stopped himself, not sure if that would offend her.

"Tal Vashoth. No, young master, I have no interest in taking anything by force...nor forcing anyone. I'm just a woman making her way in the world. Excuse me. I need to check the other windows." She smiled and walked away.

"I was wondering why Lady Halloway was so angry at you…" Saemus murmured, watching her go.

"Who? Oh, Halloway…yes, I remember her now." Hawke snorted, leading the way into the kitchen. "You should have seen the look on her face when she turned the corner and saw Theta working on the stone figures on the gate." She frowned, pouring juice and pushing a glass toward the two of them. "I almost didn't ask her, not because it made the nobles upset but…" She trailed off, sounding troubled.

"I daresay at this point Theta is in danger no matter what she does…or doesn't do," Fenris said quietly.

"Why would she be in danger?" Saemus said, uneasy of the look that passed between the two.

"Ignorance. Both on the human side and the qunari side of things," Hawke finally said.

"The qunari aren't ignorant," Saemus said, feeling moved enough to come to their defense.

"Aren't they?" The elf turned cool green eyes on him, a piercing, knowing look that had Saemus shifting uncomfortably. "They would lump Theta in with the same beasts that threaten the coast simply because she chooses to live her life as she sees fit rather than how they say she should."

"Fenris, please," Hawke said softly. The elf subsided, though he continued to scowl at Saemus. Uncomfortable, unable to deny the elf's words and not sure how to reconcile it with his views, Saemus turned and met Hawke's gaze. She shook her head. "There's already more tension between the qunari and the rest of the city, and it's only going to get worse."

"Serrah Hawke, you make it sound like a war is coming…"

"Not a war. When the qunari attack, it will more likely be a straight out slaughter," Fenris said, his voice matter-of-fact.

"That's not going to happen!" Saemus exclaimed, shocked. He looked to Hawke as if seeking confirmation of it only to find her looking serious, her brow furrowed.

Hawke shook her head. "If you can influence your father to help the Chantry to try and arrange some kind of peace negotiations, maybe you'll be right."

"I've tried, Serrah Hawke…"

"Call me Alessa. Or Hawke, if you like."

Despite the severity of the conversation, he felt a warm rush of pleasure, glad they didn't have to dance around formality. "Then call me Saemus, please." The warmth faded, replaced with bitterness. "Believe me, I've tried to talk to my father. But he listens to everyone _but_ me."

"I do believe you. The fact is, Saemus, you're the only person who as the ear of every side in this. I keep thinking you could do a great deal to keep it from getting violent. Even if you can't, at least you can say you tried."

Saemus rocked back, stunned by her words. No one had ever told him something like that. "I…I suppose you're right…"

"Just think about it. Aveline mentioned the same thing the other day." She blinked as voices rose from beyond the room. "Speaking of which…"

Saemus heard two women arguing, their voices getting louder. Hawke sighed and rolled her eyes as the Captain of the Guard and one of the women Saemus remembered from his rescue came in, snarling at each other. Guard-Captain Vallen stopped when she saw him and gave him a slight bow, much to his embarrassment. The other woman just flicked a hand in his direction and stalked toward the cupboards like she owned the place, pulling the doors open. "Any wine around here, Hawke?"

"Not yet. It's not good for work ethic."

"I beg to differ. Well, damn, how am I supposed to endure a lecture from Lady Biceps sober?"

"I'm not lecturing, I'm just telling you no more public brawling unless you want to spend most of your time in the brig," the captain snapped.

"It was an honorable duel."

Fenris snorted. "And it spawned several more honorable duels."

"All over the tavern," Hawke added dryly.

Fenris grinned at her and Isabela glared at both of them. Saemus took a drink to hold back the laughter bubbling up in his throat. He found himself reflecting on the irony: he found himself more relaxed and encouraged within this group of people he barely knew than he was around people he'd grown up with.

* * *


	23. Letters from Home

_I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true._

**\- Truman Capote**

* * *

"Won't people be scandalized by you spending any time here now that you're a right and proper lady?" Glendon-now-Marcel teased, taking a drink.

Hawke snorted. "Please. I have enough blackmail material from this place I could give Varric an entire novel."

"Just when I thought I couldn't love his books any more than I already do." Marcel grinned at her and clinked his mug against hers. He was a tall, well built young man with blue eyes and a shock of auburn hair he'd always kept artfully messy to give him a roguish charm. It had worked like magic on the girls in Lothering and Hawke was glad it continued to work for him on his clients.

Marcel, back when he'd been Glendon Frye in Lothering, was one of the few friends she'd had and the only one her own age. He'd also been one of the few people in Lothering to know Bethany was a mage, though he hadn't known until recently that her father had been one too. The ability he had to just take everything in stride had always been something she'd admired in him and was, no doubt, the reason he'd been so successful at his job. He had a knack for putting people at ease, he always had. And a fondness for the ladies, which had also served him well at his new profession. Carver had hated his guts.

At first, she'd been worried he had been forced into working at The Blooming Rose, either by threat or circumstance. But no, he was perfectly content. When they had first crossed paths, he'd been a bit worried she would judge him for it, but once they had actually talked, it had become more relaxed. She didn't get _why_ he would want this kind of career, but that was her.

His expression became serious. "Thanks for helping Ali out, Alessa. I wouldn't have asked you if there'd been any other choice but I figured even if Madam Lusine finds out, she can't touch you now…"

"It was no trouble."

"They keep us in relatively good health but with her daughter she has to pay extra for any kind of treatment and Harlan charges ridiculous amounts for it…."

"Use that copy of Varric's map to get alternate routes to Anders' clinic next time. He'll be happy to help and they'll have a better chance of keeping it from the madam and Harlan." Alessa tried to keep the disapproval out of her voice. Checkups for the higher level prostitutes were part of their contract but outside of keeping them from spreading every known disease to clients, Harlan deliberately made it hard for any of the prostitutes at the Blooming Rose to get medical treatment outside of the physician they had at the brothel, who charged twice the amount that was needed. For someone like Ali, who had a small daughter, she would have had to choose between putting herself in debt to Lusine and Harlan for another few years or possibly letting the child get deathly ill.

Loud, boisterous laughter came from across the room and they both turned to look at Isabela, who had gathered a crowd of both patron and prostitute around her.

" _She_ will spread the word around that you've been at the Blooming Rose," Marcel said dryly.

"She already did even before she saw me here."

Marcel snickered, looking at Isabela fondly. "As a patron, she's quite generous, really. In _all_ ways."

"Don't give me any details."

"Prude. Jethann is the one you want to look out for. He heard you have a taste for elves." Marcel gave her a sly, knowing look over the rim of his cup.

Hawke flushed and dug into her bag to avoid his gaze. He might have been referring to Corin but she was aware her interest in Fenris hadn't escaped the notice of her friends. It was useless to argue with Marcel about it, but she didn't have anymore of a 'taste' for elves than she did humans. Her interest in that particular elf, however…

She found the letter she'd been meaning to show him and pushed it across the table, hoping it would change the subject. Marcel gave her a curious look and opened it, reading the lines Hawke had already committed to memory:

_Hawke,_

_Heard you lot got to the Free Marches. Don't know why you'd bother, but I suppose it's better than Orlais,_

_They got spiders up there? Big ones? Couldn't swing a dead cat round here without hitting a giant spider, but the Blight drove 'em off. Maker! Dark days ahead. Mark my words! A man can't even cover his blighted land with poisonous traps!_

_Old Barlin_

"Well I'll be damned," Marcel said, shaking his head in wonder. "That old coot did manage to survive."

"Did you really think the Blight could bring him down?" Hawke said, laughing. She'd been overjoyed to hear from crazy old Barlin, the man who had first started teaching her about the art of traps.

Marcel started digging through the other letters and papers she'd laid on the table. Mostly they were letters and notes from friends or acquaintances back in Ferelden that she, Mother, and Bethany had received. She saw flashes of sorrow and happiness both pass across Marcel's face as he flipped through them and understood how he felt. People like Barlin and her mother's friend Miriam had survived. On the other hand, no one knew what had become of Bethany's friend Tamra or the Harris family that had lived down the road from them. Most of the surviving families had fled to Redcliffe or Denerim and were rebuilding their lives there. There would be no rebuilding Lothering. A letter from an old scholar friend of Father's had confirmed that. It would take the land years, possibly decades, before it was safe to build on again.

Marcel raised an eyebrow and tapped a letter addressed to Carver. "Who is Peaches?"

"I was wondering if you knew." She assumed it was a nickname since she didn't know anyone with that name in Lothering. But then again, she hadn't known her brother was seeing anyone in Lothering at all, so she had no idea whether who she could write to tell the girl that Carver was dead. Or if she should.

With the references to whatever it was Peaches had 'done for him behind Barlin's shed that one time', she'd refrained from showing the letter to her mother.

"Old Barlin's shed seemed to be romantic hotspot," Marcel said.

"We must have started it when he caught us examining each other in there when we were kids."

"Heh, Mum gave me such a tongue lashing for that." He shuffled through the remaining papers curiously. Hawke didn't answer, her attention drawn to a figure sitting in the corner across the room. She frowned.

"Mr. Dour," Marcel said when he noticed where she was looking.

"Is he in here often?"

"Sure. Templars come in here all the time, you know that, Hawke. Worst kinds of clients. And they tip horribly."

"He was looking into the death of a woman before I headed into the Deep Roads, and Aveline was muttering about him causing trouble the other day."

Marcel's eyes narrowed slightly. "She was one of Jethann's clients. Yes, I remember. He was upset when he heard she was dead."

Hawke studied the templar, whose name was Emeric, troubled. That particular incident continued to bother her. Emeric had insisted a woman named Ninette de Carrac's death was connected to the death of another woman he was sure had died in the same place. But he had no proof and nothing to connect the two women together. Even more troubling was his suspicion those two weren't the only victims, just the latest. Maybe it was because he was the first templar she'd come across who didn't immediately suspect Anders or some other rogue mage.

She wasn't sure about this idea that someone was stalking the women of Kirkwall, but it was something to keep an eye on. Varric, bless his heart, had agreed to keep an ear to the ground about it even with his increased workload taking over his brother's place- and looking for Bartrand in the process. The woman whose death Emeric connected to Ninette's had been a Circle mage, according to him, which meant Bethany might not be safe even there...

Her thoughts were interrupted by raised voices from the next room. Hawke recognized one of them and sighed.

Marcel turned his head as one of the guards came out dragging a thin, ragged figure. "Are you _sure_ you're related to him, Alessa?"

She muttered a curse and stuffed the letters back into her bag, standing up. "Thanks for the drink. I'll talk to you soon."

"Please do. You're a high class lady now, so you will invariably have the _best_ gossip." Marcel sat back to finish his drink and watch the fun as Hawke trudged across the receiving room to retrieve her uncle.

Gamlen was struggling in the guard's hold. Madam Lusine, the brothel's tall, pale haired proprietor, was standing with her hands on her hips, looking murderous.

_Madam Lusine runs this place for Harlan. Or with him. Or on him. It's a Coterie thing._ As was so often the case, something Varric said came back to her at exactly the wrong moment. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling as Madam Lusine took notice of her. Gamlen lifted his head and blinked at her. He wasn't hurt…yet…but he'd obviously gone further into his cups tonight than was usual.

Lusine was puffed up like an angry cat. She opened her mouth, but Hawke cut her off before she could get started, "How much does he owe?"

Some of the Madam's anger drained away as sly calculation filled her gaze. Again she opened her mouth to talk and again she was interrupted, this time by Isabela: "Weren't you shrieking about how he shorted you five sovereigns?"

"That's not…"

One of the prostitutes next to Isabela piped up, emboldened by the pirate's presence. "That's right. Two sovereigns from last time he was here and three this time."

Lusine glared at them both. Isabela merely took a drink and met her gaze steadily, daring her to try anything. Apparently Lusine was greedy but not stupid, because she turned away from Isabela to accept the coins Hawke dropped into her palm.

Gamlen stirred, glaring at his niece. "I don't need your help."

"Shut up," Hawke hissed back.

Lusine sniffed at him disdainfully and turned a cool look at Hawke. "If he comes back again without the proper funds, he'll be barred permanently."

"I'm only here for the medicinal benefits," Gamlen muttered.

Hawke rolled her eyes and pulled him away from the guards, gripping his arm when it became apparent he couldn't hold himself upright.

"Make sure you wash your hands once you toss him, Hawke," Isabela called as she guided him out. The room filled with laughter behind them and Hawke could almost feel her uncle bristle, aware even through a drunken haze that he was the brunt of it.

There wasn't a star in the sky above Kirkwall and thunder rumbled above their heads. Both Gamlen and Hawke pulled in a sharp breath as an ice edged wind tore at their hair and clothing. Gamlen tried to pull free and stumbled, almost pulling her over with him. He managed to stand upright for a moment, swaying on his feet. "That's your good deed for the day done, niece, you can quit dirtying yourself among the peasants."

Hawke bit back a sharp retort as she grabbed his arm to keep him from falling again. Mother had invited Gamlen to come and live on the estate again but that strange, wavering pride of his had taken hold and he'd turned her down, claiming he didn't need her charity or condescension. He'd stayed in his house in Lowtown and wouldn't even answer the door when Leandra came to try and visit him. If Hawke had been ready to forgive him for lying to Leandra about Grandfather's will, it had vanished with that. "I just don't want you to end up with your head busted open in an alley. You cause Mother enough distress as it is," she snapped.

Gamlen snorted. "Well, we finally have something in common then."

That shut Hawke up and she drew away, stung by the verbal slap. Gamlen noticed it and smirked unpleasantly. "Buying your way into Hightown isn't going to do your mother much good if you're about as good as a millstone around her neck when she's trying to kiss up to her friends."

"Good evening, Hawke."

Hawke was trying to work up a response when Aveline's voice came from behind them. The Guard-Captain moved out of a shadowed street, her armor gleaming in the dim lamplight from above the Blooming Rose's door. From the stony look she gave Gamlen, it was clear she'd heard everything he said.

Hawke gathered herself, glad for the distraction. "Evening, Aveline. Out on patrol?"

"Nights like these, there's always trouble with drunks," Aveline said, never taking her eyes off Gamlen, who dropped his own gaze and muttered something inaudible.

"He's not causing trouble, I'm just taking him home," Hawke said, glaring at her uncle pointedly.

"Allow me to give you a hand. I need to make a sweep through Lowtown anyway." Aveline took Gamlen's other arm and he didn't have a prayer of breaking free from _her_ grip.

Gamlen grumbled the whole way though it tapered off when he noticed a couple figures lurking in the shadows that melted away rather than challenge them. If they ganged up, they might have been able to take on Aveline or Hawke separately but even a gang would have trouble with both of them at the same time. And even if they did manage to take them down, most weren't willing to deal with the repercussions.

Hawke let go of her uncle's arm the moment they were at the steps leading up to his house and spun away without speaking another word. Gamlen looked like he was going to make a parting shot, but Aveline's glare before she turned to follow made him swallow it.

Aveline took a quick, but subtle, look on her men patrolling Lowtown, trying not to be obvious about it, well aware of the mutters she was getting too involved with her men. Well, she'd backed off personally going out on patrols, hadn't she? She glanced up as a cold gust of wind swept the streets and thunder rumbled. She hurried, not wanting to get caught in the storm when it broke. She fell into step beside Hawke as they made the long journey up the steps connecting Lowtown to Hightown. Aveline was silent, obviously working up to something, finally speaking: "As much as I hate to admit it, Hawke, he kind of has a point."

"Uncle Gamlen?"

"Yes. The nobility are watching your every move."

Hawke stared at her, shocked and a little hurt. Aveline continued on doggedly. "My father wasn't nobility anymore when he raised me, but he left some lessons about it. You might not care what the nobility think, but your actions don't just reflect on yourself anymore. When you anger other nobles in the city, they'll take it out on your mother."

Hawke opened her mouth, then closed it, looking away. Aveline fell silent, figuring she'd said enough. When Hawke finally spoke, her voice was hesitant. "Do you think I'm shaming her? Mother?"

" _Shaming_ her? No, Hawke." Aveline was alarmed, for that wasn't what she'd meant to imply at all. "I'm sure she's proud of what you've accomplished."

Hawke shot her a look that shot straight through the Knight-Captain. In all the time she'd known her, she'd never known Hawke to look so uncertain. Hawke wrapped her arms around herself as another cold gust of wind hit. "She wants to throw a party now that the estate is back into shape. I think she's afraid no one will come. I…I guess if I can learn to keep my mouth shut to protect my family from templars, I can keep it shut for Mother's sake. I'll try."

Aveline laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "I'm not telling you to try and stuff yourself into the same mold as those noble ladies, Hawke. Maker, you couldn't pull that off even if you did try." That earned her a smile. "I'm just saying be careful who you antagonize. If you're going to pick on the nobles, don't pick on the ones that have the power to make things harder for your mother. And you."

Hawke sighed. "Maybe I should work on my simper."

"Practice doesn't help you improve in simpering, Hawke, trust me."

* * *

The rain finally hit as Alessa was walking down the street toward the manor. Instead of hurrying, she tilted her head back and let it come, gasping a bit at the slicing cold of it when it first hit. She liked the rain, even in Lowtown. Once it stopped, everything was muddy and filthy, but while it was actually raining, it seemed cleansing to everything, including her. She rather wished Merrill was with her, since the Dalish elf was the only one who shared this particular fondness for walking in the rain. Although she sincerely hoped Merrill wasn't out walking in the rain by herself at the moment, as she tended to get lost in broad daylight. Who knew where she'd end up at night?

A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye had Hawke throwing her wet hair out of her eyes and turning smoothly, a long dagger gleaming in her hand and pointing at a cloaked figure peering out at her through an arch not far away. The figure stopped, clearly startled at having been caught out, and raised its hands to show it had no weapons. "Is your name Alessa?" It was a man's voice. He was trying to keep his voice low, but Alessa could make out enough of it to identify the rolling syllables and sharp accent of someone whose native tongue was Orlesian.

"Who's asking?" She narrowed her eyes and took a step toward him, trying to get a better look at the barely discernable features beneath the hood. She had both daggers out now, held in front of her defensively.

The figure backed away. "Why would he go after _you_?" he muttered.

Hawke paused, confused, but he darted out of sight before she could ask what in the void he was babbling about. She ran to the arch and peered through the rain, but couldn't see him. She scowled, baffled, before backing away. As she turned toward home, she caught a glimpse of someone looking out the window of a nearby manor. Reminded of Aveline's warning, she kept her daggers out but at her sides awkwardly as she moved home, trying to keep them out of sight and still keep alert for the man in the cloak or anyone else who might want to take a stab at her. She probably ended up looking ridiculous- it certainly felt awkward –and she hoped that wasn't a sign about her ability to keep from embarrassing her mother.

She unlocked the door and tugged it open, shaking water out of her eyes. Several of the torches were still lit despite the lateness of the hour. She did her best to squeeze the water out of her clothing and hair while still in the doorway, and by the time she stepped in and closed the door, Sandal was peering down the short jaunt leading into the entrance hall, blue eyes wide. "Evening, Sandal."

"You're wet, Hawke," he informed her helpfully in that cheerfully clueless way of his.

"Yes, it's raining."

Sandal wandered over to one of the windows to peer out as if just noticing that for the first time. Hawke watched him fondly as she padded across the hall toward the two sets of stairs. Bodahn was coming down one of them, looking at her with wide eyes. "Lady Hawke, are you well? You're soaking!"

"I'm perfectly fine, Bodahn. I did have a…strange encounter. He didn't threaten me, exactly, but keep an eye out just in case, will you?"

"Of course! Your traps are still set, so no one has tried to get in lately." He trotted up to her. "Master Varric wished me to inform you that the last of your share from the Deep Roads has been put through."

"Thanks. How are you two getting settled in?"

"Oh, fine, Lady Hawke, thanks. Sandal is very pleased with the room he can make his runes in."

"I figured a nice stone room away from the support beams would give him a place to work and still be insulated from booms."

Bodahn couldn't help but smile. "According to your mother, you have some experience with that yourself."

"Maybe." Hawke sauntered up the stairs, grinning. Bodahn had been overjoyed when they'd returned to Kirkwall. Apparently, Bartrand had told them his brother and this group had all been killed in a rockslide when he came back to the camp and hadn't been willing to answer questions. To the point he'd actually killed one of the mercenaries when he asked too many. Bartrand had disappeared not long after they got back to the surface. Varric had tracked down as many of the party he could find, including Bodahn and Sandal, and offered to pay them what Bartrand had cheated them out of in exchange for information. All he could glean was that Bartrand had well and truly fled and as far as Varric knew, he'd headed for Rivain. Bodahn had approached her and Varric both about employment. Varric could only get him so many ties to the Merchant Guild, but working at the estate with her gave him access to Hightown. With her mother having trouble finding people to work there, hiring Bodahn worked out well for everyone.

She wasn't sure why Mother was having trouble finding people to work for the estate. She had the uncomfortable feeling that might have been because of her. She wasn't certain. She didn't mind so much, the idea of people wandering around everywhere made her uncomfortable, but Mother seemed determined to fashion the estate into the exact image it had been.

"Alessa?"

She jerked at the sound of her mother's voice. Leandra came out of a room she'd had furnished as a sitting room and paused, studying her daughter. Moose, who had been snoozing on the hearth, barked in greeting and trotted out. Leandra shook her head. "Walking in the rain?"

"Well, it started raining on my way home," Hawke hedged, scratching Moose's ears.

Leandra sighed and returned to her chair by the fireplace, settling into it, doing nothing but staring into the fire as far as Alessa could tell. Alessa watched her for a long moment, taking in the lines on her face that seemed to have deepened, the shadow of grief that had not faded since Bethany had been taken. Moose whined softly and looked up at Hawke, who motioned for him to go to Leandra. The big dog obediently moved into the room and flopped down again, this time closer to Leandra's chair.

Alessa trudged down the hall to her room slowly, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for a long moment. It wasn't supposed to be this way, she thought unhappily. Getting the estate back had seemed the grand pinnacle of what she needed to accomplish but as she was getting it, she hadn't been there to protect Bethany. Now her mother had her family home back, but her children were all gone except for Alessa.

_If I could trade places with Bethany, I'd do it, Mother..._

But she couldn't. Hawke moved to stoke her own fire before peeling off her wet clothing. No, she couldn't bring Bethany back, but she would do her best to help her mother reintroduce herself into Hightown, no matter what.

Alessa paused and frowned, noticing a heavy envelope on her writing desk that hadn't been there when she'd left. Her frown grew increasingly puzzled as she broke the official seal of House Dumar and scanned the contents.

The Viscount, a man who had made it a distinct point to avoid her nowadays, wished to see her. Urgently.


	24. Poison

**AN:** So...yeah, it's been a LONG time since I last updated. Sorry, about that. A small bout of ill health and life in general kind of sucked all my inspiration out of me. But I'm back on the wagon, now, and hopefully I'll have updates more regularly!

* * *

_Phantoms! Whenever I think I fully understand mankind's purpose on earth, just when I foolishly imagine that I have seized upon the meaning of life…suddenly I see phantoms dancing in the shadows, mysterious phantoms performing a gavotte that says, as pointedly as words, "What you know is nothing, little man; what you have to learn, immense."_

**\- Charles Dickens**

* * *

"The Viscount has diplomats, soldiers, bureaucrats, and ambassadors everywhere in that damned Keep, what does he need you for?" Leandra demanded. Alessa generally preferred to make herself a quick breakfast and eat it in the kitchen but her mother had a proper breakfast at the end of every week and served tea in the afternoon. Often, now, she had a guest or two, people she'd known a long time ago, tentatively starting to re-forge bonds with the people of her class. It was just the two of them this day though, and Alessa had made it a point to let her mother talk for a bit- a bit of gossip, plans she was putting together for a party on First Day, the children of friends she'd grown up with, and so on –glad to see her mood improved before she ruined it by telling her about the Viscount's request. Now, as she pulled her boots on, she glanced up at her mother. "He doesn't want me doing this at all. He just passed on the Arishok's request."

Leandra paced away from her, arms wrapped around her midsection. "The last time you dealt with those beasts, you almost got your sister killed."

Alessa flinched a bit and hid it by focusing on tying her bootlaces. "This is different."

"If you ask me, you'd do better for everyone coming to the Chantry service instead of kowtowing to those heathens!"

Alessa's temper snapped. "It was a Chantry sister who tricked us and almost got us killed the last time!"

Leandra drew back, looking stricken. Alessa scowled and stood up, turning away sharply and yanking her jacket off the hook. The days were getting shorter and soon winter would have its claws deep into them. She secured her pack and her weapon belt before pulling it on.

"You weren't there when the monster came to Lothering. What he did before they managed to capture him. Now you're going to a whole compound full of them. I was planning on answering your sister's letter today," Leandra finally said, her voice soft. "Will I have to hold back in case I have to tell her that her sister was killed by Qunari hands the same way her friends were on that day?"

Now it was Alessa's turn to be stricken. She'd already been with the King's Army when a lone Qunari had killed a family in Lothering, including one of Bethany's friends. She never knew why he'd done it, but she hoped he'd been eaten by the Darkspawn for her sister's grief. She turned to her mother, who was watching her with worried blue eyes. As ashamed as she was to admit it, she was glad to see her mother was worried about her. "Look, Mother, the Arishok asked for me, which means he won't harm me while I'm there." At least, she was relatively certain that's how it worked.

"And afterwards?" Leandra was too canny after years of marriage to Malcolm Hawke not to ask that question.

"Afterwards…we'll see." She clicked her tongue softly to Moose, who was standing at the door, watching her with a sharp look as if daring her to try and leave the house without him. He leapt to his feet eagerly, darting out as she opened the door. She glanced back at her mother and Bodhan standing anxiously several paces behind her. "I'll be back soon."

She swept out of the house. Leandra stared at the door for a long moment after it clicked shut, whispering into the silence left behind: "Be careful, darling."

* * *

Hawke had never intended to return to the Qunari stronghold again. She had intended to avoid them completely, if possible. The only scenarios involving her and the Qunari that had had crossed her mind since she'd returned from the Deep Roads was the possibility they might pose a threat to Theta, and at the moment, she was more in danger from the humans of Kirkwall than her own people. Not in Lowtown, ironically. Most of the people in the docks and surrounding area knew Theta too well and rumbles from the gangs and some people in Hightown about her being a spy had been largely dismissed. Between Hawke, Fenris, Varric, and Aveline making a point to vouch for her, the rumbles had quieted.

Walking toward the Qunari compound now, Hawke took note of the tension that grew ever stronger throughout the area around it. People often shot fearful or resentful glances toward the area as they passed.

Why? She puzzled over it now. The nobles bitched about the Qunari being in the city, but the nobles bitched about everything. That witch of a sister- actually she was _Mother_ Petrice now –openly spoke out against them but from what she had observed and what Sebastian had told her, the Grand Cleric had little to say one way or the other. There had been no attacks from the Qunari, or overt hostilities. In fact, she rarely saw the Qunari themselves in the city nowadays, not even to get supplies. She knew there was tension between the people and the Qunari but she'd thought Saemus' efforts to broker peace had been making a difference even if his father tried to stop him at every turn.

Hearing the Viscount say that the Arishok had asked for her by name didn't ease her. She hadn't even been aware he _knew_ her name. The Viscount wasn't happy about it; she'd seen that well enough when she'd answered his summons. Saemus had wanted to come with her but his father had strictly forbidden it, his manner becoming almost strident, which had Hawke even more uneasy. The Viscount reminded her more of a trapped animal than a leader at that particular moment and that couldn't possibly be a good thing.

She was grateful that Fenris had agreed to accompany her. Getting a trustworthy copy of the philosophies behind the Qunari's religion was next to impossible. Haze had been trying to get a copy of something about the Qun actually written by a follower of it for the library without success so far. So everything she knew about the Qun and its followers came from either Fenris or Theta and she didn't dare ask Theta to come with her. Fenris, having come from Tevinter, had more experience dealing with the Qunari than she did. Even if that was because Tevinter had been warring with them for a long time. Having someone who had a better grasp of the Qun than she did was a comfort.

Fenris caught her eye. "If he requested your presence, we are in no danger, Hawke. He won't allow harm to come to you." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't like what I'm seeing around here, however."

"I know. I don't like it either."

He turned his gaze up as the approached the compound. Nothing much had changed since the first time they had come here, except the single door that allowed entrance within its walls seemed to have been reinforced. The guard simply opened it as they approached, letting them in without question. That should probably have made her feel more comfortable, but it didn't.

There were many elves and even a couple of humans among the kossith in the compound now, looking quite at ease and watching them pass. Converts? They had to be. No wonder she hadn't seen kossith followers out in the city, they had others to get supplies for them.

The Arishok was waiting for them this time, seated on the same platform and looking just as imposing. Even more so, Hawke thought as they came closer, because something about the set of his shoulders, something behind the expressionless mask of his face as he turned to look at her, gave her the impression of violence barely restrained. She hoped the steel hard discipline Qunari warriors were famous for was strong in him, because she didn't want to see what this man was capable of if that violence erupted. Moose growled softly and she laid a hand on his head to quiet him. He subsided and sat down between her and Fenris, but his hackles remained raised.

The Arishok spared the dog a glance and Alessa thought she saw the faint hint of a smile before he turned his gaze back to her. "Serrah Hawke."

She inclined her head. "Arishok."

"Last we met I did not know your name. I did not care to. You have changed your fortune over the years. The Qunari have not."

Hawke held her peace, not sure how to respond. The Arishok made a slight gesture with his hand, as if dismissing his own words. "I offer you a courtesy, Hawke. Someone has stolen what he thinks is the formula for gaatlok. You will want to hunt him."

It took her a second to process that. "Someone stole from you?" Her first thought was to wonder who in the Void would be that stupid. On the heels of that, she finally absorbed the implications of what he'd said. "What he _thinks_ is the formula for gaatlok?" Oh, she didn't like the sound of that.

The Arishok nodded. "The stolen formula was a decoy. Saar-qamek, a poison gas, not explosives."

Beside her, Fenris went absolutely still.

"A small amount is dangerous enough to your kind. But if made in quantity, perhaps by someone intending to sell it…" He trailed off, letting her make the connection.

"Javaris." Her heart started pounding, alarm spreading through her.

"Would he be cautious? Or would he assume success and make enough to threaten a district?"

They both knew the answer to that. Maker's breath, even if and when Javaris figured out he didn't have explosive powder, she doubted he would bother figuring out what it really was. He would sell it to the gangs, to the Coterie, to anyone with the coin willing to buy it. Depending on how much of it he made, it could kill hundreds. Even thousands.

The Arishok continued to stare at her. "A courtesy, Hawke. You will want to hunt him."

Still reeling from the news, Hawke had to gather herself in order to nod again. "Thank you."

"I have long thought this city will destroy itself. This would only hasten the inevitable." The Arishok leaned back. If he had been anyone else, she would have sworn he was amused. " _Panahedan_ , Hawke. It will be interesting to see if you die."

* * *

Bethany's absence left a hole in the clinic that had yet to be filled.

Oh, Rhea was still there, along with a new apprentice who had passed into Kirkwall from Antiva. And Hawke still came in often, helping with the healing and replenishing their supplies now that she had a garden of her own. But without Bethany, the clinic seemed darker and more squalid. She'd been a brightness that even Darktown could not dim and he hadn't realized how much he'd taken that vivid personality of hers for granted until he had returned to find her gone. Any time Anders thought he was getting used to not turning around and seeing Bethany there, or having her tap him on the shoulder to ask a question, something happened to jar him back into reality. Usually, it was someone asking where she was or asking him if he'd heard anything from her. A lot of people asked after her, worried and upset when they heard she was in the Circle. He had little to give them. Hawke and Leandra tried their best to keep him up to date, but sending a letter himself was far too risky since he knew for a fact the Templars helped themselves to all letters that went to the Gallows and a good portion of those letters never made it to the people they were sent to. The Templars still had not managed to get anything on him. Any time they tried to march on the clinic, he had plenty of warning. Not even greed or desperation was enough to make people turn against him, not with all the people he helped. Someone willing to heal them without charge was rare enough anyone who was foolish enough to try and sell him out to the Templars ended up dead. But with his Mage Underground starting to grow, he couldn't afford to bring attention to himself and Bethany couldn't afford to be associated with him anymore than she already was.

But he missed her. He tried hard not to dwell on how deeply he missed her. How she'd managed to get past his defenses without trying. Her absence left more than just a hole in the clinic; it left one in him too. There wasn't a day that went by he didn't think about that final talk between them and wished, desperately, that he was the man he'd been a few years ago. Maybe then he would have been worthy of her.

_Your obsession with her blinds you,_ Justice said disapprovingly.

Anders physically turned away like he could escape that voice in his head. He'd found himself making such gestures disturbingly often lately. _She's gone, leave it alone._

_She is weak._

_No._

Justice was relentless. _She would not fight to free others when she was free herself and she gave up her own freedom like a cheap trinket._

_She was trying to protect her family!_

_And now she's enslaved like all the others and_ happy _about it. She'd rather wear their chains around her then have to fight anymore. She's weak, soft, and unworthy. The Templars' willing pet._

"Shut up," he muttered out loud, trying to force that insidious voice back and the doubts it stirred in him. Because Alessa had also mentioned that Bethany seemed happy in the Circle, her demeanor subdued, like she was trying not to believe it as hard as he was.

Rhea shot him a sharp glance and scowled at him, a silent message to shut up and not scare the patients. At least he still had Rhea, Maker bless her. She'd managed to escape the Circle, where she had been for most of her life, before Meredith had taken command. She had refused to be driven away from her home, opting instead to stay and do what she could for those who had escaped or were passing through. She was willing to work against the Knight Commander she despised in any way she could. The times when Justice flared up in him didn't scare her- he was of the opinion nothing did –and she was a steady, unmoving presence both for the clinic and the mages.

She missed Bethany too. She never said it out loud, but he could tell.

Any further exchange with Justice was interrupted by a young boy pushing the door open and hurrying up to him, waving a note. He screeched to a halt seconds before he would have crashed into Anders, making Rhea growl in disapproval. The boy sent her a wary look and handed him the note. "From Hawke. She wanted me to get it to you right away."

Anders took it and handed the boy a couple of coins, flipping the note open and scanning it slowly. "Oh, damn."

"What is it?" Rhea turned to him.

"I need to get any poison antidotes and healing potions we have together. Now. And hope to the Maker we won't have to use them."

* * *

Varric, bless him, was ready to go minutes after they burst into his suite at the Hanged Man, listening silently to Hawke's explanation, his face taking on a grim expression. Isabela, who had been at the bar, came up silently and stood in the doorway beside Fenris. She was the one that suggested, with Varric's quick agreement, going to the Coterie to figure out where Javaris had squirreled himself away. Hawke insisted they swing by the Alienage to see if Merrill was willing to help. Fenris didn't like it but Hawke felt better with a mage she trusted at her back and Merrill was more than happy to help, almost tripping over her staff as she rushed to grab it. Hawke squeezed her shoulder gratefully as they headed for Darktown, thinking she had to make a point to keep Merrill close. Hawke had no idea how in blazes Merrill managed to get lost so often and so spectacularly as she did, even with her, Varric and Isabela looking out for her. The Grand Cleric had been very kind about finding the elf in the chantry airing cupboard but Hawke and her mother had had a hard time getting her away from the guards when she somehow managed to get herself into the Viscount's bathing chamber. Saemus had helped them with that and Hawke was pretty sure he was the reason she wasn't arrested for wandering in the Keep's gardens. The last time the elf had been in Darktown, she'd ended up in the middle of a dog racing track. Needless to say, Hawke was keen to make sure she didn't wander off while they were there.

There was a battle waiting for them by the time they reached Smuggler's Cut. Hawke knew it well from her days running with Athenril's crew and it was generally a pretty quiet area. To add to Hawke's shock, she recognized the voice echoing down the tunnel ahead of them, turning a corner and staring as she watched an imperious figure rain spells down on a group of dwarves dressed in armor that wasn't familiar to her.

"Mage," Fenris hissed, making Merrill glance at him nervously. Hawke didn't know what was making Fenris so nervous lately, but he was more snappish and wary of mages than usual, especially with Anders and Merrill. He and Anders couldn't be in the same vicinity without ending up ready to tear each other's throats out. Before he could say more, Varric shouldered forward, frowning. "Those thugs are from the Carta."

She looked at him, vaguely recognizing the name from a past conversation. "They're from Orzammar, right?"

"Usually. They've been seen more on the surface these days, not sure why." Varric raised an eyebrow and brought Bianca up. "They're in our way. And staying in Madam's good graces there will be better for us than making friends with the Carta."

Hawke chuckled, drawing her weapons. "Good point."

Athenril and Madam- Hawke was still a bit stunned to actually see her in battle –were bringing the dwarves down well enough, but having them hit the Carta from behind certainly didn't hurt.

Athenril ran the last of them through but didn't put her sword away, facing her former subordinate with a scowl. "What are you doing here, Hawke? This isn't your territory any more than it's theirs."

As far as she'd known, it hadn't been Athenril's territory either, but their caves weren't too far from here. They must have been expanding. Good luck to them with that. She nodded down the tunnel. "We're after a dwarf; he fled through here to hide in the cove at the end, so we were told. Javaris Tintop is his name."

"Running errands for the Coterie now?" Damik came up beside Athenril, an axe in his hand, an unpleasant smile on his lips.

"Try the Qunari," Varric said as he pulled out a couple bolts from a dead Carta dwarf's body.

"Qunari." That hiss came from Madam, who strode up beside her daughter, her staff clicking against the ground. Fenris, still glowing from battle, turned toward her, his markings glowing brighter for a second. Athenril stared at him, nerves and anger both flashing in her eyes, and raised her sword slightly. Moose growled again and Hawke said Fenris' name quietly. Fenris didn't look at her, but the glow faded a bit. Madam surely noticed all this, but chose to ignore it for the moment. "Bloody fools. Self righteous, mindless, tunnel-visioned fools, the whole lot of them. Worse than the Templars, and that's saying something. What in the world are you doing mixed up with them, child?"

Hawke gave her the run down quickly and Madam's eyes went wide. Damik started to comment but a cold glare from Madam silenced him. Here was someone who could face down the Arishok without flinching, Hawke thought. Grimly, Madam fell into step beside her, sending the men she and Athenril had brought with them ahead to meet more of the Carta's thugs. "This will not end well, Hawke."

"The Viscount might be able to keep the peace if we stop this before it starts," Hawke said, wishing she felt confident about that.

Madam shook her head. "The Viscount is a tiny flag waving in front of a great stone and the Knight Commander is that stone. That stupid bitch Meredith isn't going to move an inch to try and keep peace with the Qunari, she'll see it as giving ground. Badly, Hawke, there is no other way this can end. This fight is about two religions who want utter control, but they aren't the ones who will be sacrificed to it. Everyone caught in the middle will have that privilege. The lives lost on this day will only be the first."

Hawke tried not to let how much those words troubled her distract her from her current course. "Well, let's try and make sure no more lives are lost, then." Javaris wasn't selling anything through his broker yet. Alessa clung to that thought. He wasn't selling it yet; he might not even have any made yet. The broker had told Varric he'd fled, skipping out on payments not only to her but several others.

But the obvious thief turned out to be too obvious. Javaris, cowering among the bodies of his mercenary bodyguards, was happy to inform her of that fact. "Look, I'm minding business same old, when out of nowhere some elf tries to kill me. Says she has the Qunari powder and I'm her cover. I slipped her, hired some bodyguards, and ran for it."

"Wait, do you think it's that crazy freelancer who was trying to filch stuff off us the other night?" Damik said, looking at Athenril.

Hawke turned to him. "What was she trying to steal?"

Athenril looked pale. "Barrels. Empty barrels."

"I had a man follow her, she's in Lowtown," Javaris said. "I just want to get out with my…dead guards. Thanks for that."

Hawke barely heard him, simply waving a hand at him as she backed away. A strong hand gripped her shoulder and she turned to look into Madam's eyes. "We'll clean things up here. Go, child. May the Creators give your feet wings because I've a bad feeling you'll need them."

* * *

Aveline Vallen had seen horrible things. She'd fought Darkspawn. She'd killed her own husband when he'd become tainted. She'd seen with her own two eyes the depths that even untainted humans could visit upon one another.

But _this_ …

She gritted her teeth as mad gibbering echoed up from the streets beyond the makeshift barricade they had set up. It was as close to a quarantine zone as they could make and even from here, she could smell the terrible stench given off by that haze that was rolling slowly through Lowtown. The people it engulfed had fallen to the ground, retching and choking until they were coughing up blood and clawing at their own throats. The ones that didn't die went mad, often killing off the dying around them. Her guards were struggling to find the source of the barrels but they were working in shifts and only going in for a few minutes and it was still putting them down, leaving them dizzy, disoriented, and struggling to breathe.

She'd had a surge of hope when Anders had shown up with every supply for taking care of poison he had, saying that Hawke had forewarned him. So far even his knowledge was doing little good; even his magic was having a slow effect.

A shriek came from beyond the barricade and a woman appeared in the alley. Her scream wound higher and higher in pitch until it seemed her vocal cords would simply break from the strain. She lunged for them, her fingers curved into claws. Maecon, the guard who had first reported the crisis to her, stepped forward and caught her neatly; wrenching her arms behind her back while she kicked and flailed. He dragged her back and Anders stepped forward, touching her forehead and murmuring something lightly. The woman's screams faded abruptly and she slumped, unconscious, in Maecon's arms.

"Aveline!"

She turned at the sound of Hawke's voice, striding forward to meet her. "Hawke, do you know what the Void is going on here?"

Hawke looked at the barricade and caught a glimpse of the gas beyond it. Her shoulders slumped a bit. "We're too late."

"Hawke…"

Alessa drew herself up. "It's poison gas. Someone stole it from the Qunari."

Maecon swore and mutters erupted from the people gathered near the barrier. Aveline's heart sank. "How much do they have of it?"

"I don't know."

"I know nothing about Qunari poisons, Hawke, and nothing I've tried has worked so far," Anders said unhappily. "I'm sorry."

"We're going to have to evacuate Lowtown and hope the gas runs out soon," Maecon said.

"I don't…Hawke? Hawke, what are you doing?" Aveline frowned.

Hawke had dug out some of the white cloth she used for slings and bandages from her pack and was tying it around her head like a veil, covering her nose and mouth. "I'm going in there to see if I can stop up the barrels."

"Hawke, that's insane." Fenris moved forward as if to stop her.

"I have to try. Moose, stay here and help them keep guard," she ordered, pointing to a spot on the ground. Moose growled but Hawke repeated the order to stay again, her voice stern, and the dog obeyed, albeit with visible reluctance.

"Andraste's tits," Varric swore, rolling his eyes to the heavens. "The woman is crazy. Gimme one of those cloths, Hawke." He grabbed one before she could protest and tied it over his own face. Fenris did the same and then Aveline, despite the protests of her guards.

Merrill had already pulled the scarf she wore around her neck up over her face. She tapped Hawke on the shoulder. "I think…I think I might have a spell that could help stave the poison off, Hawke. Maybe only for a while, but it's worth a try, isn't it?"

"Can you cast it on this many people without tiring yourself out?" Hawke said.

"I think so." Merrill touched her forehead, murmuring one of the first spells young Dalish mages learned when they began their training. Many would have been surprised that they still worked, given her focus on blood magic these days, but the fact she'd moved on to less conventional methods of magic didn't mean she had abandoned her old ones. The earth still called to her and she drew on it now. She didn't know how the Qunari made their poisons, but as long as they used elements from nature to create them, she could offer a small amount of protection.

She repeated the spell on Aveline, Varric, and the three guardsmen who were insisting on coming with them. When she came to Fenris, his markings flared and he backed away. "No."

Merrill pulled her hand back automatically, wary of the angry distrust in his eyes. Hawke watched him, worried and frustrated by what she saw as bull-headedness. If he wasn't willing to even bend an inch for his own safety… Fenris turned and walked to the barricade, not allowing for any argument. Another cry from beyond the barrier reminded them all they didn't have time.

They'd all expected it to be bad, but none of them could have prepared themselves for the nightmare. The gas put a green haze over everything, giving familiar streets a sinister look that was only enhanced by the bodies that could vaguely be seen through it. Often it hid them just well enough you were almost on top of them before you saw them there. Their faces were black, mouths sticky with blood, their eyes white marbles bulging from their sockets in horror and agony. Even through her mask and Merrill's spell, she could feel it eating away at her. Her stomach was roiling, her thoughts trying to scatter so it was taking all of her focus to keep them centered on the task.

The others seemed to be faring better, she was relieved to see, but they also weren't running directly up to the barrels.

When they had found the first one, the latch that they had used for the mechanism on top of the barrel was laying beside it. The barrels themselves must have been designed by the Qunari. Making them must have been in the formula, because she had never seen mechanisms so sophisticated before. They were built into the barrel; you pulled the latch off and the mechanism pumped the gas out. The latch wasn't designed to be put back in, but she found if she wedged it into the hole right, it plugged it up nicely.

The first wave of mercenaries hit them right after she'd stopped up the first barrel. She heard Varric yell and then a flare of light told her Fenris had taken up position beside her. Aveline turned and waved at them. "Hawke, focus on the barrels, we'll take care of them!"

Hawke nodded and turned, moving through the haze to find another barrel. Fenris followed her, his sword drawn, the light from his markings flashing off the mist around them, making it even more eerie.

She couldn't find the latch to the second barrel so she scrabbled around for a length of wood and jammed it in the hole, using a loose stone to hammer it in. Unfortunately, by that point, the mercenaries had figured out who was trying the stop the barrels and were focusing on trying to get to her specifically now. Fenris stood at her back as she worked on the third barrel, finding another latch and using it frantically. There were more mercenaries now. So many she was wondering if they actually _were_ mercenaries. Surely whatever they had been paid couldn't be worth this. She could already hear some of them coughing and retching.

Fenris snarled something in his native tongue and attacked a pair that lunged for her. Hawke turned to search for another barrel and a vicious cramp tore through her stomach, making her double over. Her entire body seemed to rebel and she gagged, struggling not to vomit, certain that if she did, she would not be able to stop. She dimly heard Fenris call her name and forced herself to stand upright. After a moment, the urge faded to a nausea she could stand and she waved to show she was all right.

She couldn't tell if it was wishful thinking, but she thought maybe the haze wasn't as bad anymore. How many more barrels? She wasn't sure. She saw the distinct geyser of green mist across the square that showed her there was a barrel there and started for it, breathing easier when she it a patch of clearer air. A scream came from her left and she turned to see a figure running at her. Hawke turned her dagger aside right in time to keep from slaying the woman who was flailing at her wildly, blood flecking her lips and her eyes wild. Not a mercenary, just a regular citizen caught up in this horror. Hawke lifted an arm to hold her off, trying to subdue her without hurting her. She finally spun her around and conked her on the back of the neck with the hilt of her dagger. It didn't quite knock her out, but the woman didn't make a move to get up again, writhing on the ground, clawing at the stones beneath her.

Hawke ran for the barrel, saying a silent prayer of thanks when she saw the glitter of a latch not far from it. She scooped it up with shaking fingers and slammed it into the hole, twisting it and hearing the telltale click and grinding sound before the gas wore off.

She'd been so focused on the woman and the barrel, she'd lost track of the mercenaries. She heard Fenris call her name again seconds before she was thrown forward, her shoulder burning with sudden pain. She groped at it and her fingers closed around something long and hard that she blearily realized was the shaft of an arrow. Something buzzed by her ear, ruffling her hair and she turned in time to see Fenris bring his sword down on a man trying to turn his bow toward him. His mask was gone, she noted with alarm. Blood spurted, spattering the elf's face, which was drawn into an inhuman rictus of fury; lips pulled back in a snarl and the markings on his face glowing almost blindingly. She saw an alarmingly large group of mercenaries starting to converge on him and hesitating when the elf spun to greet them. She didn't blame them. The fact that the mist was starting to dissipate combined with the pain from the arrow had helped clear her head and she pushed away from the stopped up barrel, drawing one of her daggers.

In all honesty, Fenris didn't appear to need the help. The elf was a magnificent warrior all on his own, but when putting his markings to use, he was nigh unstoppable. Even without a mask, the gas didn't seem to be affecting him very much. She couldn't help but watch with a strange, churning mixture of fascination and arousal as he did that odd shifting with his markings, the claws on his hands cleaving flesh inside and out as he passed a hand through it. By the time Varric and Aveline ran up, most of the mercenaries were dead or fleeing.

But it wasn't over. Even as Aveline moved toward her, looking concerned, Alessa's gaze was drawn to the figure coming down a raised set of stairs, flanked by yet more mercenaries. She was an elf- that much Hawke could see. She was staring around with a terrible look on her face that told Hawke clearly that this was the ringleader. Aveline called something out to her, but the elf didn't even glance her way. Her eyes were on Hawke.

She came slowly to the edge of the stair. Crazy eyes, Hawke thought, if she hadn't been crazy before, she surely was now. The elf swayed back and forth a bit, like a snake. "Serrah Hawke…" Her voice was tentative. Her gaze sharpened and she went perfectly still. "Serrah Hawke. You have enemies. I'm glad it's you, really." She spoke with a Lowtown accent, her speech odd and disjointed, like she was struggling to keep her thoughts in order. Probably the gas. She looked around and that terrible look- rage, sorrow, guilt –crossed her face again. "These…these poor people." Her head whipped around and she fixed her gaze on Hawke again, her lips pulling back into a snarl. "You are a much better target."

Fenris and Aveline stepped in front of her almost in one move and Varric raised Bianca up. Hawke had to clear her throat before she could manage to speak and she was shocked at how tired her voice sounded. "You did this. Why?" She could still hear screams and babbling down through the alleys, the cries of the dying. So much death and pain. " _Why?"_

The elf flinched, drawing back as if the words hurt her. "The Qunari come and take my people!" she shouted. "My siblings forget their culture and go to the Qun for _purpose_!" She spat the word like it tasted foul in her mouth. "We're losing them _twice_!" She was working herself into a righteous rage now, her voice stronger. "So I get help from your people. 'We'll take the Qunari thunder. Make some accidents and make them hate it!'" She looked around again and then looked away from the bodies quickly. "But this…" Her face crumpled, her voice losing its anger. "This is all wrong."

"Who…?" Aveline started to demand, echoing the question in Hawke's mind. A human had put her up to this?

The mad gleam came to the elf's eyes and she overrode the Guard Captain. "It could still work! They're hidden in your city…they'll enrage the faithful and make sure the Qunari are blamed!" She reached for the sword on her back. "Me…I'm finished. I just need a few more bodies." Whatever she was going to say next was drowned out as a large figure barreled out of the mist and slammed into her. The mercs with her, who had clearly been preparing to attack, yelled in shock and turned to this new threat, but it was too late. Moose's weight had driven the woman over the edge of the stairs, her sword dropping from her hand. She was driven to the ground, her head smacking against the stonework with a sickening crack even as Moose tore her throat out.

One of her mercenaries aimed a bow at the dog and Hawke, panicking, threw her dagger without thinking about it. The dagger missed, only catching him a glancing blow in the shoulder, but the volley of bolts from Bianca did not. He stumbled back as his companion turned to flee, only to meet the point of Aveline's blade. The Guard Captain spoke in a low, furious voice. "Serrah, we need to talk."

* * *

"A conspiracy against the Qunari? I'm supposed to believe it based on the word of a crazy elven fanatic and some low-life making his living with the edge of his sword?" Viscount Dumar paced back and forth in his office. "How do we know it wasn't actually the Qunari's fault? Tell me that! They had the recipe for that horrible stuff, why would they do that if they didn't intend to use it? Maybe the Arishok called for Serrah Hawke to make it look like someone was trying to frame them. Gain sympathy and more converts!"

Aveline struggled to maintain a respectful demeanor. It wasn't easy. She was exhausted from the day and trying to reason with the Viscount. She looked to Hawke, who was sitting in a chair near the door, swaying slightly from exhaustion and grief. She kept looking at her feet as if she expected to see Moose there, but her brave, brave dog had been suffering from exposure to the gas and several shallow wounds and Hawke had insisted on taking him home. They'd taken the arrow out of her shoulder and Anders had healed her, but she'd insisted on helping the wounded, struggling with Anders and a couple of Circle healers to find a way to counteract the gas. They'd managed to save some of the people who had not been in contact with it for long but as a whole it was a total loss. When they'd left, the body count had been in the thirties and rising even then. Aveline had forcibly dragged Hawke away from the sickroom they had set up because she was afraid she was just going to collapse, every person they were unable to save like a stone set on her shoulders. Even then, she might not have been able to make her leave if Anders hadn't told her to take a restorative and go. They were all still suffering from the aftereffects of the gas, although Merrill's spell had held up. Even Aveline knew she would have to take it easy for the next few days and that was a lot to admit. But the Viscount had to be updated and she hadn't objected to Hawke saying she wanted to come along. Anders had stayed behind to do what he could and Varric had volunteered for the unenviable task of taking stock of the dead, but both Fenris and Merrill had come. Now Aveline wondered if that had been a mistake. Hawke's red, swollen eyes with their haunted look and her pale, drawn face seemed to shake the Viscount and Fenris' cold presence and Merrill with her sad eyes seemed to make him even more nervous. He'd been on the defensive even before Aveline had begun her report.

"That's ridiculous, Father." Saemus had apparently invited himself to this meeting, since he had ignored his father's glare and gesture to get out. He was hovering between Aveline and Hawke, shooting very concerned glances at Hawke over his shoulder. If Fenris hadn't been nearby, Aveline was fairly certain he would have been right by her.

"I don't want to hear anything out of you, young man!" Dumar barked at his son.

Saemus stood his ground, glaring right back. Whatever troubles his involvement with the Qunari had caused, Aveline could not deny the boy had taken several steps toward becoming a man over the past year. He was far more outspoken and straightforward with the nobles. And…it might have been disloyal to the Viscount but Aveline couldn't help it…he was proving to have a great deal more steel in his spine than his father. And never had that been more clear now: Saemus staring at his father with those direct blue eyes, his posture straight, and Dumar unable to meet anyone's eyes, especially his son's, his body language fidgety. Saemus shook his head. "If the Qunari were going to attack, they would have set the barrels themselves and you can bet it would have been much more organized. They certainly wouldn't have used Hawke as some sort of elaborate cover up plan. That isn't their way."

"Believe me, the fact he asked after Serrah Hawke specifically has not escaped our attention," Dumar said, staring at Hawke.

Aveline bristled, unable to help herself. "Hawke was the first to risk her life going in to that nightmare! She was the one who stopped the barrels!"

"So, what, Father? Hawke and the Arishok are working together and concocted this plan to make it seem like someone is setting the Qunari up, is that it?" Saemus' voice took on a sneering anger that Aveline had never heard before. Apparently, the Viscount had never heard it either, because he was staring at his son in shock. "The Qunari deliberately lured some fanatic into stealing a poison gas and Hawke, the Guard Captain, and all of their friends went in to stop it to maintain their cover?"

The Viscount was sputtering by that time. Aveline stared between the two, unable to help herself.

Saemus gestured at her. "Are you suggesting the Guard Captain is in league with the Qunari too, perhaps?"

"That's _enough_!" The Viscount brought his hand down hard on his desk, his face so red it was almost purple. Saemus fell quiet as his father took a few deep breaths, struggling to compose himself. He drew himself up and looked at Aveline. "Guard Captain, thank you for your report and your brave actions today." Aveline noted he didn't include any of the others in that. She bristled but a small headshake from Hawke reminded her it was best not to push it. "I will deliberate over your words, but unless you can offer me solid proof, I'm afraid I cannot act on your suspicions. You are dismissed. Saemus, come with me."

Aveline walked out, followed by Hawke and the others. Even as they walked down the stairs, raised voices echoed from above and before they reached the bottom, Saemus stormed out of his father's office and strode down the stairs behind them while his father called after him angrily, ordering him to come back. Saemus met Hawke's gaze as he came down. "I'm going to see the Arishok."

"Why?"

"To make sure he knows someone is working against them. I don't care what my father says, Guard Captain. I believe you. If Father isn't going to step up and try to save more lives, then I will." He hesitated. "I know you're probably exhausted, Alessa…but if you can stand for just a while more, I think your presence will help. I don't know if you understand how significant it was that he asked for you, and I'm not entirely sure what it means, but it implies he has some kind of respect for you."

Hawke raked her hands through her hair and sighed, but she nodded. "Okay."

"Hawke…" Fenris' voice was quiet but Aveline could hear the concern in it.

She shrugged at him. "I actually want to hear what the Arishok has to say. You three don't have to come with me."

"I'm coming," Fenris said immediately.

Aveline shrugged. "I don't think it could hurt to hear what the Arishok thinks. He did warn us and he didn't have to."

Merrill looked from Aveline to Hawke. "Well, I've come this far, might as well see it to the end!"

* * *

Aveline led the way out of the Keep, since the guards hesitated to try and detain Saemus when they saw she was with him. Once they were safely away from the keep, Saemus wound his way toward the docks with a familiarity that hadn't been there before. Hawke recalled hearing rumbles in Hightown about the Viscount's son spending an unseemly amount of time in Lowtown but hadn't paid it much heed. Apparently, there was something to the rumors, because Saemus clearly knew the way to the Qunari's compound. Furthermore, the Qunari guarding the door actually nodded to him as they opened it.

She was so tired. Too tired to even bother observing the Qunari as they passed. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sleep for a while. Maybe even a few days.

The Arishok was in the same spot they had left him. He looked up and cocked his head. "Saemus."

The Viscount's son looked up at him and grimaced. "So, you've already heard."

The Arishok nodded. "I was wrong about the thief. They say we were careless with our trap. That this is our fault."

"Not everybody thinks that," Saemus said hurriedly. "I don't. Neither do Hawke or the Guard Captain."

The Arishok looked at Hawke. "Even without the saar-qamek, there would have been death. This elf was determined to lay the blame at our feet."

Merrill, the only one who seemed oblivious to the tension, looked confused. "But your feet didn't do anything wrong. Er…did they?"

The Arishok didn't even spare her a glance, his eyes on the ground now, as if he were pondering something. "I admire conviction with a focus, but your kind are truly committed to weakness."

"People don't understand, and so they fear," Saemus said. "Apparently, this elf was afraid her people were giving up their culture to take on yours."

"That's what she said," Hawke agreed.

"We accept those who submit to the Qun. You know that. You also know the weak naturally seek the strong." Hawke wasn't sure if he was speaking to her or Saemus but either way, that edge of violence that she'd seen earlier in the day….had it really only been a day?...seemed more pronounced to her.

"It doesn't matter." This time there was no doubt the Arishok was speaking directly to her. "We did not come equipped to indoctrinate. I am here to satisfy a demand you cannot understand."

"You've been here for years," Hawke said without thinking, curious.

"It will take as long as needed. There is no ship coming. There is no rescue from duty to the Qun. I am stuck here."

That was news to Hawke. She shot Saemus a quick look but he didn't look surprised. She wondered how long he'd known there was no ship coming for the Qunari. "I told you my father didn't understand that," he said carefully. He looked cautious and that didn't make Hawke feel any better.

"Let them rot." The Arishok's voice had become a rumble that made the hair on her arms stand on end. "Filth stole from us. Not now, not the saar-qamek. Years ago. A simple act of greed has bound me." He rose slowly to his feet. "We are all denied Par Vollen until I alone recover what was lost under my command!"

She was pathetically grateful for the strong, steady presence of Fenris on one side Aveline on the other. That rumble in his voice was rising, whatever chain that held him in control slipping just a little bit. But it was enough. "That is why that elf and her shadows are unimportant. That is why I do not simply walk from this pustule of a city. Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun. _And you should all be grateful!"_ His voice rose to a roar at the last words and even Saemus took a step back. Hawke held her ground, but it took every ounce of courage she possessed.

The Arishok turned away, bringing himself back under control, at least on the surface. He sat down, not looking at any of them again. "Thank you, human, for your service. Leave."

Saemus started to say something but Hawke caught his arm and tugged him away. The Arishok probably wouldn't have harmed him, but at this point, she didn't want to risk it. Too many people had died today, and she was too tired to debate over the questions upon questions upon questions that were reeling through her. Questions she feared very much that they would not have the answers to until it was far too late.


	25. Matchmaker

 

 

 

_Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within._

**\- James A. Baldwin**

* * *

Hawke stomped into the Keep, shoulders hunched. She ignored the mutterings aimed her way from the nobles, used to them by this point. Seneschal Bran was coming down the stairs as she passed and grimaced when he saw her. "Serrah Hawke, please don't tell me you're here to report more trouble with the Qunari."

"I wish," Hawke muttered. She passed him, leaving him staring after her in confusion, and marched into the barracks, heading into Aveline's office. She heard raised voices from inside and paused with her hand on the doorknob, not wanting to interrupt if she was dressing someone down or something.

"You've gone _three years_ without? You must creak like a rusty hinge!"

Then again, she might need to step in front of Isabela before Aveline killed her. She pulled the door open hurriedly.

"We both place others above ourselves. I just happen to do it clothed," Aveline was saying as she came through the door.

"You're splitting hairs but wishing someone would split yours." Isabela was enjoying herself entirely too much.

"I've had enough of your loose lips! Like many, I'm sure."

"Oh, _touché_! Prig!"

"Slattern!"

" _Ladies._ " Hawke said, shutting the door behind her.

Aveline spun to look at her. "You told her!"

Hawke spread her hands helplessly. "She was at the Hanged Man and she came up while I was talking to him! I didn't even know she was back from that merc job until she walked up."

"Yes, don't blame Hawke, she did her best to hide your precious little attempt at courtship. I thought she was flirting with him. And making a mess of it."

"That's what he thought too," Hawke muttered. "He told me he likes women with backbone. You know, I've been rejected before, but it's a whole new thing to get turned down by someone I'm not even interested in and wasn't _trying_ to get."

Isabela started laughing. "When she admitted what was going on I knew there was no way I could miss out on this! Just be glad Varric didn't decide to come along!"

Aveline sighed. Hawke shuffled her feet uncomfortably. "Well, that's what you get when you say you're going to show up and you don't."

"I'm an idiot." Aveline leaned against her desk. Hawke regretted her words almost immediately, especially when she took in how upset Aveline was. She padded over and sat on the desk next to her. Aveline shook her head and made a helpless gesture. "It's fear. I know it's foolish, but I can't get away from it. I feel paralyzed. I hate it."

Aveline was sweet on Donnic Hendyr. That had surprised Hawke and she realized it shouldn't have. Donnic was a good man. A steady man. The kind of man who matched Aveline very well, in Hawke's opinion. When she'd questioned Aveline on it, the guardswoman had admonished her to stop trying to protect her. Wesley had been dead for almost four years and Hawke was glad she was ready to move on.

Being recruited in helping her move on, however…

"You know, Lady Biceps, Hawke's track record with men isn't exactly the best. At least that's what Bethany says," Isabela commented, still grinning.

"Just because your track record could stretch from one end of the city and back again doesn't make you an expert on having an actual relationship," Aveline snapped. "Far from it."

Hawke was momentarily distracted by another issue here. "Since when do you talk to my sister?"

"I write her all the time. And send her books to keep her warm in that cold, lonely cell," Isabela said.

Hawke winced, not wanting to think about that. "Sorry I asked." She bit back the sting of unease and jealousy that went through her. Bethany had only answered a couple of her letters, though she wrote to Mother all the time. She'd figured easing Mother's fears had been one of her top priorities and she had a limit to how many letters she could write. But if she was writing Isabela regularly…

She pulled away from those thoughts as Aveline pushed away from the desk, starting to pace. "I'm the Captain, he's my guardsman. I can't get past that."

"Get him drunk."

"Shut up, whore."

Hawke actually thought that idea had merit. "If you try that, though, he might not remember anything you say to him."

"So that's a plus then," Isabela said.

Hawke stomped on her foot. Isabela yelped and glared at her. "If you're going to stand there, be helpful."

Isabela rubbed her foot. "Oh, here's an idea: just _talk to him._ "

Hawke smirked. "See, was that so hard?"

"You little…"

Aveline threw her hands in the air. "I know that, but I'm a mess unless I'm on patrol. I'm good at _that_. Killing highwaymen doesn't exactly provide an intimate setting, though. And…" She sighed. "And I'm tired of embarrassing myself."

"Then I'll clear the way and you can talk to Donnic!" Hawke said, inspired.

" _We_ will," Isabela chimed in. "I wouldn't miss this for all the gold in the world."

"With Isabela that's fine but putting you in danger doesn't help, Hawke," Aveline said.

"You have a better idea? I'm not running him anymore gifts and I'm not taking goats and wheat to his mother, Aveline. That stuff isn't working. At all."

Aveline sighed again. "All right. You clear up the Wounded Coast, and I…will live to regret this, I'm sure."

* * *

 

"So." Isabela pulled her dagger out of a dead robber's body, glancing over at Hawke. "While we're on the subject of romance: Fenris."

"Don't even start, Isabela."

"That taut, controlled body, brooding demeanor and intense gaze…I hear he still wears the shackles from his life in bondage under his clothes. You know what they say about men like that, don't you?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"He can't find a saw." Isabela burst out laughing, the sound ringing off the rocks. "Had you there! You thought I was going to say something dirty!"

Hawke refused to dignify that with an answer, especially since she was right. She shivered against the wind. She hated the Wounded Coast. It was either sweltering or twice as cold as it was in the city.

"We're not going to have to go through all this again with you two, are we?" Isabela persisted.

"It's different, Isabela. Plus, he already knows."

"You're not going to tell me you've already peeled him out of that skintight armor. You wouldn't be this wound up if you had."

"He was a slave," Hawke snapped. Her face was red. Isabela wasn't sure if that was because she was embarrassed or because she was thinking about getting Fenris out of that spiky armor. Probably both, the little minx. "I'm not doing anything that will remind him of his former master. If that means waiting until he's ready, then I'll wait as long as he needs."

Besotted with him, Isabela noted. Utterly besotted. Not so different from their guardswoman, really. In fact, she and Aveline were too much alike in many ways. Do-gooders. There was no way to compete with such relentless goodness. Hawke finished stripping the last highwayman of anything valuable and straightened, catching Isabela's eye for a moment. Despite their differences, the two of them actually got along well enough. Hawke had a desire to help other people that Isabela found at turns annoying and exasperating, but she also had an almost completely non-judgmental attitude Isabela found refreshing. She'd never gotten a lecture from Hawke, not like Aveline or that handsome prince that had started hanging out with them. Hawke, in turn, admired Isabela's unapologetic attitude and lifestyle, her courage and brutal honesty.

Yes, she was fond enough of Hawke she dropped her teasing. Besides, Aveline and Donnic were coming around the bend. The show as about to start.

She could already see how it was going. Poor Donnic looked bewildered. Hawke came up beside her, squinting at the pair. "Uh oh."

"Even I'm finding this painful to watch," Isabela said. What was so exasperating was the fact that Donnic was _clearly_ mad for Aveline and apparently just as bad as expressing it.

It was like watching two blind, one legged birds doing a mating dance. And Hawke was only succeeding in ruffling their feathers.

Isabela rolled her eyes heavenward. This was in farce territory by this point. Before Hawke could make an effort to smooth things over- and no doubt fail again -Isabela nailed Donnic with an exasperated look: "You're a couple of daft…Take a hint and bend her over a basin, will you?"

Well, of _course_ that was the _exact_ right thing to say. She knew that even as Donnic returned to the barracks, obviously flustered. But there was a flush to his cheeks and a look in his eye Isabela recognized all too well, even if Aveline didn't.

It wasn't like she didn't suffer on the way back. She had to listen to Aveline harping at her and fretting over whether Donnic was going to file a report against her for her 'inappropriateness'. Isabela wasn't entirely certain how she was planning to head him off once they got back to the Viscount's Keep, but that turned out not to matter. She crossed her arms over her chest when Donnic asked to speak to Aveline privately and smiled smugly at the closed door. She glanced over at Hawke, who was twisting her hands together nervously in front of her. Isabela could have set her mind at ease, of course, but…well, she was having too much fun.

First Donnic emerged with a slightly dazed look, like all his dreams had come true. Isabela found that doubtful, they hadn't had enough time for _that_. But Aveline had an equally goofy smile on her face as she stepped out and she swept Hawke up into a tight hug before anyone could even speak, nearly lifting her off her feet.

Hawke grinned. "I guess he's not going to file a report, then?"

"No…"

"He didn't bend you over the desk, though? Disappointing," Isabela sighed.

"Shut up, whore." There wasn't much fire behind the words this time around. She composed herself with some effort, schooling her expression into a more professional one, though the gleam in her eyes couldn't really be hidden.

Isabela gave it an hour before everyone in the Guard knew the whole story.

Hawke watched Aveline go with a soft expression and Isabela didn't have to guess about who she was thinking about. _Good luck with that one, Hawke._ She shook her head and headed for the Blooming Rose. After all that matchmaking, she figured she had earned a reward.

* * *

_He'd come to the conclusion that Danarius had to keep a close eye on him, watching carefully for the days his prized slave moved more carefully than normal, the days his markings sent long shivers of pain through his bones. It was the only explanation Fenris had for how often Danarius called him to his room at night when his markings were especially painful. Those nights were hard enough when he was alone. The bone deep ache kept him from resting comfortably and at those times, his mind seemed to claw at him, flashing bits of memory too fleeting to mean anything to him scraping at the inside of his head._

_Hard enough during the times he was alone, yes, but that was a blessing compared to the times Danarius wanted him in his presence. His master never kept any of the other slaves around during those times. He would strip Fenris and leash him with his own hands, forcing him to kneel. Sometimes, Danarius would stand with a glass of wine in one hand and simply watch him as the time passed and the position started to pull unbearably at his muscles. Other times, he would run his hands over his body, forcing him to stay still. Those were the worst. The magister would press a finger hard against one marking and trace it along its length, inflicting the maximum amount of pain. Worse than the pain was the gloating expression on Danarius' face and the chuckle that came from deep in his throat. He would offer praises on how magnificent Fenris was that had nothing at all to do with Fenris himself and everything to do with Danarius' pride in his own abilities. To Danarius, he didn't just own Fenris. He'd_ created _him._

Fingers tightening around the neck of the wine bottle in his hand, Fenris closed his eyes against the phantom of those fingers running over his markings. They didn't hurt like that anymore unless he used them for too long, but sometimes he could still feel those cold, possessive fingers gliding over his body. He liked to think if Danarius tried it now, Fenris would cut his hand off, but sometimes he wondered. Maybe that was why, though it was nearly three years and he'd had no signs of Danarius, he didn't go after him. Was the need to please his master- conditioned in him probably since birth -so ingrained he would hesitate to take Danarius' life?

It was a frightening thought. He'd come too far to risk faltering.

Fenris took another drink, trying to drown those thoughts out. The wine was starting to fog his thoughts pleasantly, enough that when Hawke walked in, he was able to look at her without the confused churn of conflicting emotions she tended to bring lately.

She paused in the doorway, holding a book under her arm, her head cocked as she took in the sight of him and the scent of wine. Maker, she was beautiful. Beautiful, fascinating, _exasperating_ woman. Putting herself constantly at risk because she had to save _everyone_.

That day they'd saved Lowtown had truly brought things to a head for Fenris. Watching her fight off that sickness as she worked to stop up the barrels had nearly made him sick as well. And when that bastard had shot her…Fenris glanced away and took another drink. Even thinking about it now infuriated him. He wished he could call the man back into existence so he could kill him again.

"New one about the history of Blights," Hawke set the book on his table and eyed him. "Don't get wine on it or Haze will stuff the bottle down your throat."

Fenris snorted and took a drink, then waved the bottle a bit. "Last bottle of the Agreggio. I've been saving it for a special occasion."

She caught the bottle as it started to slip from his hand and took a drink before handing it back with a grin. "What occasion?"

"The anniversary of my escape." He toasted her with the bottle and sat back. "Care to hear the story?"

"If you're sober enough to tell it." There was a quiet warmth in her tone and smile that thrilled him.

"There's not enough Agreggio in the world to stop me from speaking with a beautiful woman. There are few pleasures greater." He smirked, unable to help himself, when she blushed. Poor Hawke, she really did get flustered easily. At least around him, which he would never admit he enjoyed. "You remember Seheron?"

"You've mentioned it a couple of times."

"It's a large island north of Tevinter. The Imperium and the Qunari have been fighting over it for centuries. I was there with Danarius during a Qunari attack. I managed to get him to a ship, but there was no room for a slave. I was left behind. I barely got out of the city alive."

Hawke frowned.

"There were rebels in the jungle called Fog Warriors."

"Rebels?"

"Natives of the island. They seek to free it from both the Imperium and the Qunari. They took me in and healed my wounds. I stayed with them for a time. Until Danarius came for me." He scowled, lifting the bottle and studying the remaining wine within it. "I didn't want to go. I'd grown found of the rebels. They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom. It was beyond my experience."

"Standing up to both the Qunari and Tevinter, that's amazing in itself."

Fenris found he couldn't look at her, staring at the wine. Part of him was sorry he'd started telling the story at all but he pressed on. Backing out now would be a disservice to the Fog Warriors and he'd already dishonored their memory enough. "They were amazing. I knew them only a few months, but during that time, I felt as if I truly lived. They were bold, strong, free with their affections." He'd never felt such awe and joy as in their presence. Learning from their fog dancers, their fighting methods. He'd experienced the first genuine pleasure of his life at the touch of one of their warriors. "When Danarius came, they refused to let him take me." He took a deep drink as if it could drown out all the shame and anger at himself. "He ordered me to kill them…so I did. I killed them all."

Hawke had tucked her legs beneath her and laid her head against the back of the chair, her eyes never leaving his face. "The shackles are hard to throw off." Her voice was soft.

He glanced up and had to look away. She'd seen him struggle against his upbringing as she'd taught him. Hadn't he mentioned it to her before? How even now he could remember what it was like to care only about what his master desired. The idea he could be anything else had never occurred to him until the Fog Warriors. But it hadn't been enough. "It seemed inevitable. My master had returned and this…this fantasy life was over." He closed his eyes. "But once it was done…I looked down at their bodies…" He lost his train of thought for a moment, overwhelmed by the memory of that twisting mixture of grief and guilt and rage. "I felt…I couldn't…" He shook his head. "I ran. And never looked back."

"Weren't there other Fog Warriors?"

"Perhaps, but I felt…unworthy. I had no idea if I could truly escape from Danarius then. I didn't even know what that meant. I simply had to get away. I stowed aboard a ship to the mainland and headed south. Chased by my former master every step of the way."

"You're lucky you managed to get away from him in the first place."

"The rebels had wounded him. The soldiers he brought along tried to capture me. Unsuccessfully. It was weeks before he could mount a proper search, and by then I was already gone."

"I'm surprised you let him live."

"I wasn't running from him, Hawke. Not at first."

She nodded slowly. "From yourself…"

She did understand. He leaned back in his chair, finally looking directly at her. Oddly, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off him. "I've never spoken about what happened to anyone. I've never wanted to. Perhaps, this is what it means to have a friend."

Hawke smiled at him. Not her usual one, that fast humor that flashed across her eyes and face like lighting. It was slow, lighting up everything about her, taking such obvious pleasure from his words. It speared straight through him in a way he'd never felt before. It was more than desire; he felt ready to do anything if she'd smile for him like that again.

He wanted her. He could mince words all he wanted, but in the end, it was that simple. The force of it mixed with the lingering memories of Danarius' touch made him push to his feet and sway.

"Fenris?" Alarmed, Hawke jumped to her feet and moved to him. He jerked away instinctively when she touched him and she stepped back, looking distressed and hurt. Fenris dropped back into the chair and reached out to grab her hand, making her pause and look down at him. Whatever she saw in his eyes at that moment made her breath catch and her eyes darken. They stared at each other, the tension between them wound so tight it seemed to make the room vibrate. He wanted to pull her against him and push her further away at the same time.

Hawke swallowed. "Fenris…" Her voice was hoarse. He knew she wanted him in return. It was in the way he caught her gazing at him on occasion. The way she tensed when he brushed against her by chance. But she hadn't made an aggressive move; certainly nothing like Isabela's flirting, giving him space, perhaps able to sense he needed it.

"Danarius…Hawke, the ritual…it took my memories away even as it laid this lyrium into my skin. The pain was…extraordinary…"

"Fenris..." She laid a hand gently over the one that clasped hers.

"He used to wait for days they were clearly hurting me and run his fingers over them. The memory lingers, especially on days like this."

"Fenris, you don't have to explain…"

He raised a hand and touched a finger to her lips.  He met her gaze. "You…are unlike any woman I have ever met. With you…with you, I think it might be different. If you'll give me time."

Some of the tension went from her body and she smiled softly again. "Take as much time as you need." She raised a hand and laid it over his free one where it lingered on her face, the tips of his fingers brushing her cheek. "If I could take that pain from you, I would, Fenris."

"I know." And he did. He released her, letting his hand drop. When she stepped back this time, he let her. He tried to rise again and had to grip the edge of the table.

"You're drunk as hell, Fenris." Hawke was clearly trying to hold back laughter.

"Quit laughing at me, Hawke," he grumbled with no real heat.

"Let's get you to bed before you fall over."

He eyed her and she gave him an exasperated look. "I'm not going to ravish you, don't worry."

Fenris let out a breath at the mental images that conjured, which were not unpleasant. At all. Since he was fairly certain it would take him several hours to cross the room unaided, he didn't protest when she slid an arm around his waist, supporting him. The heat of her body where she was pressed against him made him shiver, the scent of her sweeping through him.  Ink and leather and the warm, herbal scent of whatever soap she used in her hair.  Everything about her would be warm, he thought.  Warm and soft.  He found himself almost desperately curious to know what she tasted like; surely if he pressed his mouth to hers he'd find a sweetness in those full lips like nothing he'd ever tasted before.  Everything about her was different from what he knew.  If he'd been sober, he might have found out, but his head was so heavy...the wine, that scent...

"You throw up on me and I'll skin your hide," she informed him. He had to laugh. She shook her head and guided him to the edge of the bed, letting him go as he settled down. "I'll bring some special tea for you in the morning. You're going to need it."

"In wine, there is truth. That's a saying in Tevinter."

"That's a saying in one way or another _everywhere_ , Fenris. Sleep it off." She pushed a lock of his hair away from his face and then leaned down and brushed her lips across his forehead, the gentlest of caresses.

Even as sleep started to claim him, Fenris thought that was the most wondrous sensation he'd ever felt in his life.


	26. Interlude: A Warning to Priam Delacour

_Delacour,_

_I am giving you a final warning about this. For the last and final time: a 'break between worlds' as you are proposing_ _is not possible_ _and you are edging dangerously close to heresy for insisting it is. You can throw whatever numbers you want at me, but I still have my faith in the Maker. He would never allow such a thing to happen. I will most certainly not pass on your babblings to the Divine. The fact you were working with Hawke on all those maps and statistics…about_ _ demons _ _, Delcour!...is not going to help you at all. In fact, I would urge you to start denying you ever had anything to do with her, given the rumors she had something to do with the mage rebellion._

_As for going straight to the Empress, go right ahead and try. See how far you get. We have enough problems with the mages and the elves at the moment to indulge in your paranoia about the Fade. I tell you what I have always told you: find your faith in the Maker and focus on our own Empire and everything else will work out._

_Regards,_

_Cleric Louis DuMond_

_Chancellor_


	27. Blood and Light

All people have three characters: that which they exhibit, that which they are, and that which they think they are.

\- Alphonse Karr

* * *

 

Alessa stood in the Chantry's courtyard, keeping pace with Jaim and Aran Palla as much as she could without hovering, watching them circle the building, occasionally speaking in low voices. Jaim had been nervous when they'd first arrived, shaking his long, dark hair around his face in a vain attempt to hide his ears, a habit he picked up when he was afraid people were staring at him.

There weren't many people in the Chantry courtyard at this time of day; Palla had timed it to ensure that would be the case. Alessa wasn't sure where he'd gotten the original plans for the Chantry, but he was putting it to good use. She was holding the paper folded in her hands now, waiting for them to return. Moose, laying at her feet, suddenly lifted his head and growled.

"Serrah Hawke."

Hawke bit back a sigh and schooled her expression into cold neutrality as she turned toward the voice. Her dislike for its owner had blossomed into outright contempt the past year or so and judging from the sneer Mother Petrice was aiming at her, the feeling was wholly mutual. The former Sister had been very put out that Hawke had survived her little plot. Varric was of the opinion that Hawke made her nervous, as well. She was officially nobility both in title and in money, and she had made a name for herself as someone the Viscount called upon. She was no longer unimportant enough her disappearance would go unnoticed- and she knew Petrice for the crazy, treacherous, empty headed bigot that she really was, even if the Grand Cleric didn't see it.

Not that she was holding a grudge or anything.

"Mother Petrice." She laid a hand on Moose's head lightly and the dog subsided, though his hackles remained raised.

Petrice's eyes traveled to where Jaim and Palla were deep in conversation. "What is the meaning of this?"

Hawke gave her an innocent look. "Meaning of what?"

"What is that elf doing here?"

"You have a bias against elves as well as Qunari, now?"

Fury flashed across Petrice's eyes and she opened her mouth to speak. Hawke overrode whatever she was about to say. "That's unfair, Mother. One could excuse your hostility toward the Qunari as a religious prejudice but the elves are just born the way they are."

"They're heretics in general," Petrice almost hissed. "And there have been plenty of them among those animals, joining up with their noxious religion."

That shut Hawke up. Bitch she might have been but Petrice was correct in that regard. The fanatic that had attacked Lowtown had not been exaggerating about the number of elves starting to convert to the Qun. "Though I suppose you already know that, given your closeness with that thing that lives near the docks," Petrice continued with a smirk.

Hawke glared at her, one hand clenching into the fist. "Theta hasn't followed the Qun for years. Leave her alone."

Petrice's smirk widened, her eyes glittering with a smugness that made Alessa want to hit her. Before she could say anything else, Palla came hurrying up to her, a piece of paper in his hand. "Let's see, Lady Hawke!"

Hawke turned away from Petrice and handed him the Chantry plans. Palla eagerly looked at them while Jaim came up behind him, smiling shyly at Hawke and casting a wary glance at Petrice. Alessa shifted herself to make sure she was standing between Petrice and Jaim, which wasn't lost on the woman. She opened her mouth to speak but Palla interrupted her again, too enthused to pay attention to anything else. "Look at this, Alessa!" He showed her the markings he'd made on the paper, comparing them to the plans. "Just by sight alone and he isn't off by more than a foot on most of them!" He grinned with fierce pride. "I can't do that. Can you?"

She looked up at the building rising above their heads and shook her head slowly. She might have been able to calculate the dimensions of the building by sight with some accuracy. But down to a foot? With no numbers beforehand? No way. In fact, she couldn't think of anyone who could do that. Hawke gave Jaim a wondering look that made him blush and glance down.

"You are…measuring the chantry?" Mother Petrice looked off balance, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Giving Jaim some trials," Palla said. "Taking a look at the height, the length, you name it, he can guess the numbers with frightening accuracy."

"That building is there for the faithful, not for you to use as some kind of lesson in measurement!" Petrice snarled.

"Oh?" Hawke nodded toward the plans in Palla's hands, jeering at her. "And measurement had nothing to do with building it in the first place? What, did the Maker sketch out lines in fire and the builders just laid out the bricks and mortar along them?"

"Hawke."

Aveline's voice came from behind her and she turned to look at the Guard Captain. Aveline laid a hand on her shoulder and drew her away with a cold, polite nod to Petrice. "Excuse us, Mother, I have need for Serrah Hawke."

Petrice stared at Hawke with smoldering fury in her eyes. "I hope you live a long life, Serah Hawke, because your judgment before the Maker is likely to be a harsh one."

Moose growled again and Hawke glared right back at her, managing to get a parting shot in as Aveline dragged her away. "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you."

* * *

 

"I really wish you wouldn't provoke her, Lady Hawke," Palla said, sounding aggrieved. "For our sake, if nothing else. Please."

"She's the reason I have any doubts about the Grand Cleric's judgment," Hawke snapped, still bristling from the encounter. "She never should have risen in rank."

"Things like that aren't so simple, Hawke. You should know that by now." Aveline's voice was quiet. Jaim caught her eye, keeping his expression solemn, but Hawke thought he'd rather enjoyed the whole thing.

She took a deep breath and let it out. "She talked about Theta and I lost my temper."

Aveline sighed. "She's in no immediate danger, Hawke."

"I like Theta." Jaim was frowning now. "She gave me some really nice drawings of Qunari architecture."

"The high talk from the people of Lowtown balance out the grumblings from Hightown. She'll be all right, lad." Palla laid a hand on his shoulder, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "Pardon us, ladies." He gave a slight bow to them, Jaim echoing it, and headed home.

Hawke glanced in the direction of the docks. She had a deep urge to check on Theta, even though she was probably fine. "Did you actually need my help with something, or did you just use that as an excuse to keep me from hitting Mother Bitch back there?"

"I actually do need your help. Keeping you from hitting her was just a side benefit." Aveline expression became grim. "Do you remember Emeric?"

"Ser Emeric? That templar that was claiming there's a killer stalking women?"

"That's the one."

"Varric hasn't heard anything more about someone stalking women."

"I haven't been able to find anymore evidence of it, either. But now…"

Hawke looked at her as she trailed off. "What is it, Aveline?"

"Emeric is dead. Anders found his body in Darktown with a shade standing over it. I suspect he informed me of it more so he wouldn't be blamed for anything more than out of a sense of duty, but he did let me know."

"A shade. A rogue demon?" There were rumors that the Veil between the world and the Fade was very thin in Kirkwall.

"I really don't know. I'll leave that to the Knight Commander. We raided the estate of a man Emeric suspected of being this killer he'd been going on about. We searched the man's estate, but we didn't find anything. I didn't thank him for that one, let me tell you. Meredith forbade him from looking into it further."

"I think I remember you telling me something about that."

"The thing is, Hawke, the suspect- his name is Gascard DuPris –asked about you."

"What?"

"He asked me if your first name was Alessa."

Hawke suddenly remembered the rainy night she'd encountered the man asking her name. "I think I might have met him, actually."

"I haven't found any evidence to indicate he's been stalking women, but I would like to ask him some questions and I'd like you to come with me."

"Yes…I suppose I'd better."

"I've been trying not to make a habit of this, Hawke, I swear."

Alessa laughed. "Even when you try to keep me out of it, I end up poking my nose in anyway."

"There's many a criminal in Kirkwall cursing you for that." Aveline gave her a slight smile.

DuPris' estate was about the size of her own. Hawke noted the crest above the front door as they approached. "Is he native to Kirkwall or did he come here from Orlais?"

"Native. His parents were the ones from Orlais." Aveline knocked on the door. "Someone mentioned he had a sister, but we didn't see any sign of her during the raid."

No one responded to the knocking, not even a servant, which Hawke found odd. It was late in the evening, so she supposed it was possible everyone had gone to bed. Aveline frowned and glanced at her. As she started to step back, a strange howl came from beyond the door.

A noise that did not come from the throat of anything human.

Aveline drew her sword and kicked the door in, rushing through with Hawke and Moose hot on her heels. The front hall of the estate was teeming with shades. Hawke barely had time to absorb that before the demons were on them, hissing. Hawke got her daggers out in time to parry a vicious slash at her face. Moose threw himself on the shade, closing his jaws over its arm and yanking it off balance, allowing Hawke to deliver a hard kick to its head. The demon yowled, thrown backwards, its arm still entrapped by Moose. Hawke pinned its other arm down with her foot and stabbed both daggers into its chest, tearing it open. Shadowy substance burst from the wound and the thing writhed as it died, fading away to nothing.

Hawke stumbled to her feet to find Aveline being attacked from all sides, blocking blows with her shield as her sword flashed left and right. Hawke gestured to Moose, stabbing her finger toward them. "Moose, go!"

The dog obeyed instantly to the command, racing across the room and throwing himself on the shade directly in front of Aveline. Remembering having to fight the things in the Deep Roads, Hawke drew one of her concoctions out of her pouch, shaking the small bottle and throwing it at two of the shades. It let loose an icy blast when it hit, and the things shrieked in pain, their movements slowed, allowing her to take them down easily.

She was so focused on the shades that she didn't hear Aveline's shout of warning until it was too late. A rage demon barreled down the stairs and slammed into her, its skin burning against hers as it threw her down. Moose howled in fury and rushed it, heedless of the fire that singed his fur. Terrified for him, Hawke threw another frost bomb and the creature shuddered as the ice engulfed it, and then Aveline was attacking it from behind, shouting something Hawke couldn't make out. Even between that deadly triangle the rage demon managed to put up a fight, living up to its name. By the time it fell, more shades had gathered at the stairs, hissing as they came down. Aveline groaned and put her back to Hawke's.

"Stop!"

The shades paused at that voice, hesitating. Hawke turned her head to see a man looking over the railing above them. He said something in a rapid language to the shades and made a slashing motion. The shades withdrew, fading into nothing.

The man came down the stairs slowly. He was pale skinned and red haired with the sharp features of someone of Orleasian descent. "Guard Captain…"

"Messere DuPris." Aveline drew herself up.

"Forgive me, Guard Captain, I…" He paused when he caught sight of Hawke. "Lady Alessa Hawke."

"I'm afraid, Messere, that you have the advantage over me." Hawke laid a hand on Moose's back to calm the dog, who was still in a fighting mood, judging from the snarl he was aiming at DuPris.

"Shit…I thought you were…it doesn't matter." DuPris ran a hand through his hair.

"Help me."

A voice came from above them and they all turned to see a young woman dressed in the clothing of a noble clutching the railing. She pointed a shaking finger at DuPris. "He's mad!"

DuPris held his hands up, looking panicked. "I didn't hurt her! I'm trying to protect her."

Aveline was staring at him with narrowed eyes. She glanced at Hawke, who nodded and sheathed her daggers. "Explain this, Messere DuPris."

He took a deep breath, looking relieved. "I know what Ser Emeric thinks, Guard Captain. But I'm not the one who has been killing women around the city. I've been trying to find that very killer, as a matter of fact." His expression went dark. "He killed my sister."

"How do you know this, Messere?" Aveline asked.

"Because he sends a bouquet of white lilies to each victim. I waylaid a page bringing such a bouquet to someone named Alessa but he ran off before I could ask what her last name was. At first, I thought it was you, Lady Hawke. But he hasn't had a habit in the past of going after a woman who can fight back. Eventually, I traced it to this Alessa." He nodded toward the young woman and then sighed. "I took her because she was obviously this monster's next victim. I thought I could force him to come to me."

"No. He hurt me!" The young woman protested. She sounded so exhausted and terrified, Hawke moved to her, afraid she was going to faint.

"I needed your blood in order to track you down if he took you," DuPris retorted.

"Blood magic." Aveline's voice was flat.

DuPris lifted his chin, glaring back at her. "I'll do anything to bring my sister's killer to justice."

"Hawke." Aveline didn't take her eyes off him. "Get her out of here."

"Moose, stay with Aveline," Hawke instructed, guiding Alessa down the stairs. She gave Aveline a worried look as she passed her and Aveline nodded in reassurance before turning back to DuPris. "I'll need you to come with me, Messere. I have some more questions, particularly regarding Ser Emeric."

"Emeric?" DuPris sneered. "I don't know what that fool is saying now, but he's been wrong about everything else, so why would you believe him?"

"He's not going to be wrong about anything anymore. He's dead." Aveline said it fast and sharp, watching for his reaction.

The shock that paled the young man's face seemed genuine. "Dead? How?"

"There was a shade standing over his body," she said pointedly.

DuPris shook his head slowly. "No…it wasn't me. I thought he was an idiot, but I meant him no harm."

"You haven't helped him or yourself by trying to take justice into your own hands. Come with me and we'll find a way to track this killer down."

"You'll turn me over to the templars in a second and the Knight Commander won't hear anything once the term 'blood magic' comes up," DuPris snapped. "She's trying to make people forget that it only took a couple of blood mages and a little push to get her own templars possessed a few years back. Her and Emeric both. Even if you've forgotten it, I haven't." He backed away from her, sliding a hand beneath his coat.

Moose growled and Aveline pointed her sword at DuPris. "Take your hand out slowly!"

"Goodbye, Guard Captain. Tell Hawke that if she finds anything about this killer, she can find me in Darktown." He threw something down that sent a billow of smoke rushing toward her. Aveline threw herself aside, coughing. She heard Hawke calling her name. By the time the smoke had cleared, leaving them all shaken, but unharmed, DuPris was nowhere to be found.


	28. Hawke's Favor

_A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous._

**\- Ingrid Bergman**

* * *

Sometimes it seemed to Hawke that time spent giving lessons was the only true time she could enjoy herself. The Lowtown Library was getting more books every day and she and Haze were getting more and more people coming in, eager to either learn or add on to what they knew. It was also something her and her mother could agree on. Leandra had no objections whatsoever to her donating money to it. She'd even come down to visit a few times. Because of that, Hawke had sucked it up and gone to parties with her. She kept telling herself it was a test of her discipline. Oh, and her balance, because those damned _shoes_ …

But tonight, her mother had gone to a dinner party for a small gathering, leaving Hawke to do as she pleased. And her lessons with Fenris pleased her very much despite the fact he'd been awkward ever since he'd told her about his escape. He'd settled a bit when she'd kept her word to give him time and space. She'd been relieved when that happened, because she'd come to treasure these quiet nights with him. It wasn't just that he was smart- and Maker's breath, he _was_ –it was the sheer enjoyment he took in learning. The library in his mansion was no longer unused and he seemed bound and determined to find ones on every possible subject, exploring them with a hunger she completely understood. Hawke wasn't surprised to find he had a particular fascination for philosophy and history, things he'd never been allowed to consider when he'd been a slave. _The Book of Shartan_ rarely left his person; he kept it with him as if afraid it would disappear. Zek had been overjoyed to find more books for him on the subject, but that one remained special to him, probably because it was the first one he'd really learned to read from.

She glanced up at him, sitting down the table she'd bought for the library. It was long and had several comfortable chairs around it. She found it good for spreading charts and papers out, but it also gave Fenris the space he needed. They'd moved on to writing recently. Now that they both knew his learning process, Fenris was twice as hard on himself as she could ever be. He could easily spend hours copying first letters and then words out of _The Book of Shartan_ over and over again. Often he would tear up a piece of paper and start all over again before he would even show it to her, insisting he could do better. He was bent over the paper now, eyes narrowed in complete concentration.

Alessa looked back to her own scroll with a soft smile, relishing the companionable silence. It touched Hawke like nothing else between them that Fenris felt comfortable enough letting his guard down around her, even if it was only sometimes.

She tapped the pen against her lips. She was actually glad he was very distracted, since she was writing to Feynriel. Fenris continued to be uneasy regarding the young half-elf. On the subject of mages in general, he was still immovable. He was convinced any freedom given to mages would make the rest of Thedas like Tevinter. It was kind of interesting at first to debate whether they would end up more like Rivain. Isabela's homeland had not adopted the Andrastian religion and had no Circle. They also interacted regularly with the Qunari. Father had actually considered moving them there but Mother had balked on it.

When it came down to it, however, she had gotten over the habit of arguing with people when she knew it did no good. At least people she wasn't willing to get snide and nasty with; and since she respected Fenris, that wasn't an option. She thought Fenris could be unreasonable on the subject of magic, but he had his reasons for being so; he thought she was too soft hearted because of her father and sister but was willing to step back and accept her friendship with Anders and Merrill to a certain level. For the moment, they were both willing to just leave it at that.

Feynriel continued to fascinate her, but more than that, he'd admitted she was one of the only people he could talk to. She had been sorry to hear that few of the Dalish had accepted him. In fact, he thought that they were afraid of him. She found herself irritated by that, especially since the Dalish were the ones who had the best records about Dreamers like Feynriel. They even had a name for those who were able to manipulate the Fade: sominari. At least he had Malaina. _That_ was something she had not told _anyone_ else about.

_Dear Feynriel,_

_Usually, I wouldn't encourage you to take the words of a magister seriously, even if Haze gave you the book, but my father said basically the same thing this Mareno fellow did about the Veil not being a physical barrier. Father called it a shift in perception, which I guess makes sense._

_That being said, I have also heard that the Veil is thinner in Kirkwall than it is in other places. I haven't heard anything about it being so on Sundermount but there's definitely something about that place. With your unique abilities, I guess it doesn't matter either way, but I'll keep looking into it for you. I think focusing on keeping demons back is a perfectly rational way to focus your training at the moment._

_As for the Qunari, well, they haven't killed us yet. Saemus Dumar told me the relic they are looking for is called the Tome of Koslun, which is a sacred text to them. We still don't know who took it._

(Although several of them now had a few suspicions with Isabela's name all over it.)

_I'm sorry the Dalish are acting like morons. Except the Keeper, of course. Also, don't be silly, Feynriel, your letters aren't a bother to me at all. Write whenever you like! I look forward to hearing from you again._

_Hawke_

She was just sealing the scroll up, thinking how astonishing it was she now had her own crest to press into the sealing wax, when Bodhan came in. She didn't give this particular scroll to him. Feynriel had obviously made a special friend up on the mountain since his letters had started arriving via a raven. She'd leave the small scroll outside her window.

"Comtess de Launcet sent a servant over with a bottle of wine. Shall I put it in the wine cellar?" Bodhan asked.

"No, put it in the kitchen for the moment. We'll let Mother decide what she wants to do with it. The Comtess probably sent it over because she wanted to demonstrate the superiority of Orlesian wines."

"They do have very good wines," Bodhan commented. He studied the wine bottle. "Good vintage."

"Say what you will about the woman, she's not cheap with her gifts."

"De Launcet? Do they have any daughters, by chance?" Fenris looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"Two of them. Why?"

"I think I met one of them at the Hightown Market a couple weeks ago. Well, if you count following me around the market as 'meeting'."

"Did she have an ear-piercing giggle? Tossed her hair a lot?"

"Oh yes."

"Fifi." Bodhan and Hawke said it at the exact same time. Bodhan looked flustered when she blinked at him. "There's a lot of talk about her and her sister."

"I bet." The sisters were a pair of nobles who lived by the school of thought that bad talk about them was better than no talk at all. She looked at Fenris. "Wait, what was she following you around for?"

"How should I know? Maybe the silk merchants asked her to make sure I didn't steal anything." Fenris looked irritated at the memory.

"While giggling and tossing her hair? No, I doubt it." Hawke bristled, quite certain she knew what Fifi had been up to.

"She probably thought flirting with an elf was daring, serrah," Bodhan said, his voice somewhat apologetic.

"Flirting?" Fenris actually looked startled.

"She flirts with everything," Hawke muttered. Fenris slanted a look at her. Did he look amused? She squinted at him in return and yes…that definitely a smirk.

"Is that why you're not out among the elite tonight, Alessa?" he asked.

Maker's breath, he could make her melt just by saying her name no matter how irritated she was. "Actually…um, yes."

Bodhan coughed politely into his fist.

Now she lanced Bodhan with a look but he was studying the ceiling like there was something fascinating there. "Mother failed to warn me when I met the de Launcets that she'd been engaged to marry the Comte. You know, before she…er…"

"Ran off with your father?" Fenris was obviously trying to keep a straight face.

She resisted throwing something at him. "Yes. I wish I'd known _that_ little tidbit before I was introduced."

"The story going around is Fifi tossed wine at you, Lady Hawke," Bodhan mentioned.

"Hawke?" Fenris wasn't trying to hide his grin now.

"Well, she called Mother a whore and I called her a fat, stupid cow in Orleasian. Turns out she can't speak Orleasian which put her on the spot. So she threw wine at me and I dodged and it hit Lady Haloway…which for some reason was _my_ fault." She stopped talking and glared at Fenris, who was outright snickering by that point.

"Between them and that Orleasian blood mage Messere Tethras was talking about…" Bodhan stopped himself but it was too late. Fenris' laughter cut short and he looked sharply at Hawke. "What blood mage?"

Bodhan muttered something and scurried out. Hawke sighed and rose to put a book away. Fenris followed her. "What blood mage, Hawke?"

"Some Orleasian noble Aveline asked me to help check out, that's all." She turned and felt a stab of shock when she saw the look in his eyes. She hadn't realized how upset he was. "We didn't realize he was a blood mage until we were already in his mansion."

"Why did Aveline ask you specifically and not…any of the rest of us?"

She was suddenly wary about telling him the rest of it, but she'd never been good at lying. "He'd asked about me. Well, not _me_ exactly," she added hastily when he went still. "He claimed he was tracking a killer who has been targeting women and he thought I was the next target. But it wasn't me. It was another woman named Alessa. Aveline and I set off a trap he set for the killer, which was where the shades came from."

"You should have come and gotten me." Fenris spun away from her, pacing in front of the fireplace like a caged animal.

Her pride flared, making her temper rise. "I can take care of myself, Fenris."

"You could have been killed! Shades and demons are only a fraction of what depravities a blood mage is capable of!"

"I've gone up against blood mages before. And demons. And darkspawn. And creatures no one has seen for centuries down the Deep Roads, remember those?"

"Yes. I remember because _I was there to protect you!"_ He moved toward her, a predator's glide. Alessa didn't realize she'd moved away until her back hit the bookcase behind her. Fenris stopped a few paces away from her, his gaze fixed on her collarbone and the mark he'd put there. His expression…she didn't have a proper word to describe the mix of emotions there. Fear and desire and regret all in one roiling mix. He reached out and laid a finger softly on the scar, tracing it. The contact made her shiver. "I want to protect you, Alessa Hawke." His voice was quiet. "Do you realize how new…and _frightening_ …that is for me? I protected Danarius because it was all I knew but seeing him wounded only made me afraid of how I'd be punished. And I admit I enjoyed it more than a little." His hand slid along her throat until he was cradling her face. She closed her eyes. Her temper had faded beneath a cascade of desire. Her skin felt overheated and she swore her heart was pounding hard enough to break through her ribs. "You…I'd take every bit of harm cast your way on myself if it would save you a moment's pain."

She leaned forward and brushed her lips lightly across his, a feather-light touch. Fenris made a sound deep in his throat and slid his fingers into her hair, pulling her against him. It was clumsy at first, a bruising mesh of lips and teeth. Kissing was obviously something he wasn't used to but she was more than happy to show him. But once the urgency, the desperate need, was soothed, the touch of his mouth on hers became gentler. She twined her arms around his neck, clinging to him because nothing she'd imagined had prepared her for this. The taste of him, the feel of him against her was better than anything her fevered imagination could come up with. And she'd imagined a lot.

They pulled apart to breathe and Fenris let his forehead rest against hers. He spoke between soft, nipping kisses that made her weak in the knees. "I can't stand the thought of someone hurting you, Alessa."

"You can't always protect me," she said gently.

"I can try."

"Careful, Fenris, people will start referring to you as my champion. Like I'm royalty or something. I'll become absolutely insufferable."

Fenris leaned back and pulled something out from a pouch on his belt, holding it up. "The day I gave you that," he touched the scar on her collarbone again, "you tore this scarf up to clean a wound that would have left me blind if you hadn't been there. Yes, Hawke, if you granted me your favor, I would gladly act as a champion for you."

Alessa stared at the piece of red cloth in his hand, feeling an odd flip in her heart. He'd kept it all this time; ever since that horrible day in the Deep Roads. She turned to look at him and his gaze was steady as their eyes met. She reached out before she really knew what she was doing, taking hold of the red cloth, wrapping it around his wrist and tying it into a loose knot. Fenris watched her intently, finally lifting his free hand and brushing his fingers over the back of hers. A bit embarrassed- such dramatic gestures didn't really come naturally to her –she gave him a sheepish smile. He didn't return it, staring at her with that same intensity for a long moment before he drew her close and kissed her again.

She didn't know how long they stood there together. Long enough for her to forget there was an entire world that existed around the two of them, that anything mattered beyond the way her body fit against his. Long enough her lips were swollen and she felt half crazed from wanting him. So when the sound of the front door opening in the front hall echoed through the room, they jerked apart, startled back into reality. She recognized her mother's brisk steps and felt a moment of relief when they faded. She might have been an adult, but her mother's gaze always shrank her back into a rebellious teenager.

Fenris had stepped back and she recognized that flicker of confusion and something close to panic that crossed his eyes before he shut it down. It was a common reaction and it no longer bothered her because she understood now. At least as much as she was able to, as nothing she'd experienced came close to Fenris'. Desire was a sort of madness, wasn't it? And now that sanity had returned, so did everything else, including the things he struggled to keep control over. She took a deep breath to shake herself out of the haze that had settled over her own brain.

"Hawke…" Fenris looked at her warily. His hand had come up and closed over the red cloth around his wrist in an almost protective gesture. Like he was afraid he'd displeased her and she was going to ask for it back, which broke her heart a little and made her half wish she could finally meet Danarius face to face so she could bash his in. Since that wasn't possible, she smiled and moved to the table to look over his writings and give him some space.

She studied the paragraph he'd been copying and made a couple quick corrections. His penmanship was brisk and clear, no frills. She'd mentioned if he needed lessons in making letters look pretty, she'd have to ask her mother to show him since she'd never mastered the art. Both Bethany and her mother could make writing pretty _and_ legible, which was a feat Alessa kind of envied. Her attempts at script just looked like looping squiggles.

Fenris came up beside her as she gathered the papers up, placing them between the pages of _The Book of Shartan_ and using slips of paper to mark several other pages she thought would be good for him to practice with. She knew he did it back in his mansion. How he picked what passage he wanted to practice with was still a mystery to her, so she'd started suggesting ones that would provide a challenge for him.

He looked down at her as she handed him the book. He tucked it beneath his arm and reached out hesitantly, brushing her hair back away from her face. Alessa turned her cheek into the caress, closing her eyes. A soft sigh escaped her and she realized she felt amazingly happy. Perhaps Fenris felt it too, because he smiled, his thumb caressing her cheek before he stepped back. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hawke."

She just nodded, moving to the doorway watching him as he drifted across the now dark front hallway and the door beyond. She wasn't aware she'd lifted her hand to her cheek, still feeling the warmth of his touch.

Fenris was the only one who caught sight of Leandra standing at the top of the stairway. He paused, startled, the two of them creating an odd and awkward tableau. Leandra gave him an amused but knowing look and nodded politely before turning away.


	29. Dissent

_The Templers stand as an example that you can have plenty of learning and knowledge of something without actually understanding a damn thing about it._

**\- Malaina Surana**

* * *

Hawke returned home mid-afternoon after spending some time with Theta at the Lowtown Library. Haze and Sil were chomping at the bit to turn part of it into a museum and were in talks to acquire the building next door so they could expand. Theta was helping with the plans, which also served to soothe her friends' worries about her being alone. If the Arishok was aware of her, he had not sent anyone after her. Likewise, the people grumbling about her seemed to be outweighed by the people who knew her enough to believe she was not working against the city but Hawke wasn't so certain it would stay that way. Her friendship with her drew comments from the nobles, but Hawke was startled to realize people who might otherwise go after Theta were wary about drawing her- Hawke's -ire. Having power was an odd feeling and she wasn't sure what to make of it. Except use it to protect her friends.

She was musing over such thoughts as she pushed the door open. She drew up short when she saw the group waiting for her. Anders was pacing back and forth in front of the stairs and Varric was sitting on the bottom step of the stairwell, his expression sober. Her mother was sitting on a bench against the wall, her posture rigidly upright and her hands folded tightly in her lap. Moose was sitting quietly at Leandra's feet. She looked over at Hawke as she came in, her eyes clouded with worry.

Hawke looked around at the worried faces turning toward her, scratching Moose on the head as he trotted up to her. "What's wrong?"

Anders moved toward her. "Do you remember the other day when we were talking about how many Tranquil have been in the Gallows lately?"

"Yes…"

"We were right, Alessa. I've seen at least two people I _know_ passed their Harrowing selling their wares in the Gallows with that damned brand on their foreheads."

"I thought mages that passed their Harrowing weren't allowed to be made Tranquil. Unless they're proven to be blood mages."

"That's the official line, yes. But it's worse than the Templars abusing the Rite of Tranquility. There's a deliberate plan in the works to turn all mages Tranquil over the next three years." Anders' voice was grim. There was fear in his eyes that was echoed in Varric's, Leandra's, and she was certain in hers as well. That fear had a name that was in all their thoughts.

_Bethany._

She looked over at her mother. "Has she mentioned anything about feeling threatened in her letters to you, Mother?"

Leandra shook her head slowly. "Bethany is among the senior enchanters, looking after the new mages brought into the Gallows. She's at First Enchanter Orsino's right hand so she's better protected than most. She has mentioned a couple people that make her nervous but nothing about being worried about being made Tranquil."

"Who is making her nervous?" Hawke's voice came out sharper than she intended. She hadn't known any of this.

Leandra frowned at her. "She hasn't mentioned this to you?"

"Most of what I hear from her is through her letters to you."

"She's only named one specifically. Ser Alrik."

"That's the one!" Anders burst out. "He's the one trying to push it through. His Tranquil Solution, he calls it."

"Nasty piece of work," Varric piped up. "Ser Thrask has mentioned him once or twice. Even the other Templars think he goes too far."

"He likes to experiment on mages. He's the one that made Karl Tranquil," Anders said darkly.

Hawke raised a hand to calm him down. "All right. What should we do?"

"I know a way to get into the Gallows." Anders' voice became careful now, and Hawke could easily deduce how he'd found out. Anders, Rhea, and several other free mages in Kirkwall were involved in what he called a Mage Underground. He wouldn't get her involved directly, she didn't know what they were doing exactly nor did she know anyone else who was involved with it. She had too many ties to the nobility…and the guard. "There's a tunnel that goes beneath the walls, through the Undercity. If we could get in, we could try and find proof."

"If you find it, I can help you present it to the Grand Cleric," Leandra said, rising to her feet.

Hawke moved to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I won't let Bethany be made Tranquil, Mother."

She didn't think either of their hearts could take that.

* * *

No one knew why Isabela was in Kirkwall. Not even Varric could weasel a straight answer out of her. Hawke had gleaned over the years from bits and pieces that she had freed a cargo full of slaves when she'd discovered she'd been transporting them. To compensate whoever she was working for, she'd agreed to steal and transport a relic of some kind. Judging from the fact it was her ship the Arishok had been chasing when both had been destroyed in the storm, Hawke had a deep suspicion that Isabela and the Qunari were looking for the same thing. Hawke wasn't the only one who had come to this conclusion. Aveline, Theta, Varric, and Fenris had all voiced suspicions about the pirate. What to do about it, however, no one had an answer for. Isabela hadn't been able to find the relic and deftly parried any questions regarding it.

As leery as Hawke might have been toward Isabela's intentions in general, even she couldn't deny she had a genuine affection for Bethany. It would have been easy…so easy…to pretend it was a shallow thing that would only bring her sister harm, but Hawke just couldn't. Not when Isabela already knew about Ser Alrik and had been taking notes of his comings and goings, solely because he made Beth nervous. She had not asked to come with them when they stopped by the Hanged Man so Varric could pick up a few things; she had invited herself with an uncharacteristically grim look.

They were all grim, Hawke included. She wanted to stop this idiotic Tranquil Solution in its tracks. Anders claimed Alrik was planning on sending the proposal to the Divine herself. Hawke had no intention of allowing him to try. One way or the other.

_Funny how you've gone from thinking of killing as a last resort to being willing to do it right off the bat,_ a voice in her head said mockingly. She winced and pushed it back. She'd protect her family whether they thought they needed it or not.

She wished, very much, that Fenris was with them, but he'd taken a quick mercenary job along the Wounded Coast and had left the day before. Hawke suspected he needed some time and space, which was a kind of pattern for him these days. At least where she was concerned. Varric had commented that they were dancing around each other like a couple of chickens doing a mating dance and while she'd wanted to whack him for that one, she had to admit it was accurate. Neither one of them was going to mention it to Fenris, though.

It was almost frightening how much safer she felt when he was with her. It had gotten to the point she half turned to see where he was even when he wasn't there, so common was it for her to be at her side.

* * *

The Templars might have considered the Gallows impenetrable and inescapable but in fact, the tunnel Anders had discovered was only one of many. Due to the city's many abandoned mines along with being occupied at one point both by Tevinter and Orlais- two societies that thrived on secrets –they could have spent an entire lifetime trying to plug up all the ways one could sneak from point to point by passing underground and still not manage to get them all.

Anders claimed that lyrium smugglers had built this particular set of tunnels, which made sense. Lyrium gave the Templars their ability to nullify magic and other useful abilities against mages. It was also highly addictive and a good lyrium smuggler could easily make a living feeding that addiction.

When Bethany had been younger, under her father's tutelage, she'd asked him about that. She had wondered, and still wondered to this day, if the Chantry had the right to do that. They couldn't claim ignorance at this point in time; everyone knew lyrium was addictive. True, the Chantry didn't force Templars into service, but the Chantry did officially control the supply and delivery of lyrium. The smugglers were proof that there were ways around this but even at a young age Bethany had pondered this: did they have the right to purposely hook someone on something they knew was highly addictive and then deny or reward them with the thing they were addicted to? Her father hadn't thought so. More, he'd pointed out no one was allowed to question it because it was the Chantry and the Chantry was doing the Maker's work.

Bethany wasn't as certain as her Father, although she did wonder if so many years of addiction was what made some Templars unstable. They could have taken a lesson from mages in that regard, she thought sourly. The line between mages and Templars had been drawn long ago, a hard line in the sand one side was unwilling to cross and one side was unable. And that line was more harshly drawn in Kirkwall than it was in any place Bethany had ever been.

She paused at a junction of three tunnels, her hand tightening around her staff. Parthalan's staff. Orsino had been so fascinated by it when she'd arrived and had taken pains to make sure the Templars didn't take any particular interest in it. Even now, she felt the power of it quiver through her hand. She'd found it seemed to vibrate when danger was near, so her movements were cautious. She found tracks near the left most tunnel and went into it. Ella was not a tracker, Beth thought with a twitch of her lips, and being sneaky didn't exactly come easy to her.

Ella was their newest mage, and Bethany had taken on her training personally. She'd been snatched right off the street and Ser Alrik had not allowed her to contact her family. Beth's hand tightened around her staff at the mere thought of the man. She'd watched with helpless rage in the past months as he twisted the power he wielded to his own sick ends. By that time, she'd already picked up on his pattern. Either a female mage would catch his eye or a male mage would do something, some petty insult or slight that Alrik would take personally. First he had the mage watched and then brought in for interrogation, claiming their behavior was threatening. Every single person he brought in ended up Tranquil. All of them. At first, Alrik had been discreet about what he was doing, but as his confidence grew, he didn't bother hiding it. In fact, to the mages in the Gallows, he would go out of his way to flaunt it, gloating over his control of the situation and their powerlessness. She would never forget walking into the Gallows' library and finding Alrik bending poor Helena, who had been made Tranquil just a few days earlier, over one of the tables. The only sound had been Alrik's grunts and the flat slap of flesh against flesh; Helena hadn't made a sound, her gaze blank, as limp as a rag doll. Beth had been too stunned to move, finally starting to back away to the door as Alrik finished with a low snort, like a savage pig. He'd turned his head to regard her then and Bethany's blood ran cold. She'd compared him to Ser Meran before, when she'd spoken to Sil, but at that moment the library seemed to darken, the scent of candles and stone surrounding her, drawing her back to that terrible day. That same sick expression, that sticky sort of smugness and dull triumph in his eyes. There was no guilt in Ser Alrik, though. Whatever he might claim to the Knight Commander, it wasn't fear that drove Ser Alrik. He liked having so many people who were unable to tell him no at his disposal.

First Enchanter Orsino had tried desperately to appeal to both Meredith and the Grand Cleric about him, but if any of his attempts to draw their attention to Alrik's abuse had reached their ears, those ears had been deaf.

The power struggle had started there. A few of the templars thought Alrik went too far, but they were few and far between. Ser Thrask made it a point to make sure he was always on duty around the female mages so Alrik wasn't alone with them, but he was only one man, and Alrik had a higher status and more followers. But the First Enchanter had spent his entire life guarding those who were under his care and he was far more adept at it than Alrik gave him credit for. When Alrik started to voice opinions on a mage, particularly a female mage, that mage was suddenly very hard for him to track down when he was on duty. Oddly enough, several other Templars found him or her quite easily, Ser Thrask in particular. But around Ser Alrik, his or her whereabouts seemed to elude anyone he demanded answers from. Sometimes he would literally spend hours going through the Gallows because someone vaguely remembered the mage he was after was upstairs, downstairs, in the courtyard, in the kitchens, in their cell, ect.

For all his power, Ser Alrik wasn't particularly bright. When all of the mages and some of the templars were united in an effort to keep someone from his clutches, they had started to succeed more often than they failed and it had enraged him. He'd gone quiet for the past few days. Ser Thrask informed Orsino that he was arguing something with the Knight Commander and spending long periods of time writing furiously. But it was a lull in the storm and they all knew it.

Except Ella, apparently. Bethany hadn't liked the way Alrik had been looking at Ella and had done her best to shield her. Maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe not letting Ella understand what danger she was in- what danger they were all in –had made certain the little mage didn't understand what was going on. She missed her family and worried about them so much, and Beth thought that was probably why she'd risked this today.

Bethany picked up the pace, wanting to catch up to her. She rounded a bend and let out a sigh of relief when she caught sight of the girl, only to have it catch in her throat when she saw why she had stopped.

Ser Alrik, who had been advancing toward Ella, stopped for a moment when he saw her. For an instant, she thought she saw a flash of guilty panic, was reminded sharply of that moment their eyes had locked when she'd caught him raping Helena. Then it was gone, replaced with a sneer. "Two little mage girls trying to escape." He almost crooned it.

_Damn, how did he find out?_ Ella spun to face her even as Bethany crossed the distance between them and stood between her and Ser Alrik, never knowing how much she looked like her sister in that moment. "Keep back!"

"You know what happens to mage girls who don't toe the line around here, don't you?" Alrik said as if he hadn't heard her.

Ella started to cry. "No, please don't make us Tranquil!" She tried to push forward and Bethany held her back. She took in the odds coolly. Alrik and two other Templars she couldn't recognize because they had helmets on. Not good odds at all. "Bethany was just looking for me," Ella said, pleading with them. "Let her go! I'll do anything!"

"Yes." Bethany actually saw his pupils dilate when Ella started to beg and there was a black excitement in his voice that made her sick to her stomach. "Once you're Tranquil, you'll do anything I ask."

Bethany held her staff out in defense, ready to fight. Whatever punishment awaited her, she couldn't let him take Ella.

" _Get away from her!"_

Bethany had a moment of sheer confusion as she thought she heard her sister and Isabela's voices. Then it was all drowned out by a flare of light and an inhuman roar.

_Anders._ Bethany dragged Ella back as Anders bore down Ser Alrik, his skin cracked and glowing with Justice's light. Alrik, taken completely by surprise, barely had time to get his sword out before Anders was upon him.

* * *

It was a rare occasion that Anders actively called on Justice. Usually, he was unable to control him. Alessa, bless her heart, had done research on everything she could think of to try and help him. Meditative exercises, potions, breathing techniques and every medical solution she could find short of cutting his head open. It was no use. He did what he could to control the spirit, hoping it would be enough, hoping that they could find some sort of equilibrium in this body they shared.

But never had he just opened himself up and called Justice forth until the moment he'd seen Ser Alrik reaching for Bethany Hawke, who was shielding another young mage. One look at Ser Alrik's face and he'd dragged his soul open for Justice. That look might not have been familiar to Bethany but Anders had seen it all too often. That arrogance that came from living a life oppressing and humiliating people. That surety that he could act on whatever sick indulgences came upon him because they were acted upon people cursed by magic. He assumed he could do whatever he wanted to mages and no one would punish him for it and with Meredith in charge he was right.

_Not another mage,_ Justice thought.

_Not Bethany,_ Anders thought at the same time.

"When you're Tranquil, you'll do whatever I ask." Those were the last words he heard before he called Justice in, the two of them united in fury.

It was like nothing he'd ever felt before this time, perhaps because for the first time he was working with Justice rather than struggling to keep it from taking him over. The air sang around him, humming with the power of the Fade and the world took on the perfect, ringing clarity of the utterly fanatic, sure of the rightness of his cause.

There was fear on Ser Alrik's face now, possibly the first true fear the man had ever felt in his life. Anders/Justice wrapped hands around his throat and Ser Alrik flailed at him ineffectively. Savage satisfaction rose through them as they poured power into the man, invisible fingers tearing deep into his throat even as physical ones did. Now _he_ knew what it was like to be helpless. Now _he_ was the one suffering in silence.

Alrik was a big man and weighed down further by full plate armor, but Anders/Justice picked him up like he weighed nothing, the stench of singing flesh in the air as his body sailed, his throat sealed shut by magic so he could let out little but a thin wail. It was cut off a moment later as his head cracked against stone and he tumbled to the ground, lifeless.

One of the other Templars cried out in horror, which brought Anders back to the battle around him. Hawke threw one of her concoctions at the Templar and his cry grew into a scream as he was suddenly covered in flames.

_Why not add to them?_ He thought, sending flames rippling out from his hand. The Templar's shriek grew higher in pitch, the metal of his armor so hot it was cooking him alive. Varric put him out of his misery, stepping close and firing a bolt from Bianca close enough it pierced the armor of his helmet, taking his life.

He turned to find the other Templar dead already. It wasn't enough. They all had to suffer. They all had to die to make sure this never happened to…

_Bethany_

…any other mage!

" _They will die!"_ The haze started to lift and Anders realized Justice's words in his head were also coming from his own lips. _"I will have every last Templar for these abuses! Every one of them will feel Justice's burn!"_

He heard a gasp and turned to see the younger mage cowering behind Bethany, staring at him with wide eyes. It broke through Anders' rage but not Justice's. Anders tried to take a step back and regain control even as Justice forced his feet forward. Bethany shook her head. "Don't, Anders…"

"Get away, demon!" The young mage's voice was shrill with terror. Anders could only imagine what she was making of what she saw.

Justice didn't care. The term threw him into an affronted fury. _"I am no demon! Are you one of them that you would call me such?"_

"No!" Bethany pulled the girl back. Anders realized with growing horror that Justice wanted to kill them both.

" _Betrayers and weak willed cowards are just as wicked!"_ Justice howled in his head, images of tearing the two mages apart filling both of them.

Anders physically threw them backwards, stumbling away as he wrestled with control. Someone seized hold of his arm and he turned to find Alessa's mismatched gaze burning into his. "She's a mage! She's an innocent!"

" _She's theirs!"_ Justice snarled, ready to destroy her too. _"I can feel their hold on her!"_

"She's the reason you're fighting, Anders! Anders!" Alessa kept saying his name forcefully. _"Anders!_ You don't want him to do this!"

"Anders…" Bethany's voice was softer. She held a hand out to him, those gorgeous eyes, almost gold in this light, locking with his.

Anders could feel Justice drawing on the magic in him, ready to strike out and with a mental wrench, he threw the spirit back. _NOT BETHANY!_

Protesting, Justice was pushed back, driven back by Anders' will. Anders fell to his knees, panting, his body wracked by pain. He focused on making sure Justice was subdued, unable to look at any of them for the moment.

A hand touched his brow and healing magic, heightened by the Fade still swirling around him, flowed through him, familiar and foreign at the same time. "Anders."

Maker's breath, was there any other woman in the world who had such a beautiful voice? Such tenderness that shouldn't have been able to survive in the face of all she'd been through. He lifted his head slowly to look at Bethany. Her brow was furrowed with worry. She touched his cheek and Anders closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from savoring that warm touch before he made himself pull away. "If you had not been here…" He backed away when she said his name again. He couldn't look at her. He wasn't even worthy of being in her presence.

Anders turned and stumbled away, even knowing there was nowhere in Thedas that he could run. All he knew was he had to get away from Bethany before he poisoned her worse than he'd poisoned his own soul.

* * *

_Oh, Anders._ Bethany watched him stumble away and felt a swell of gratitude when Varric winked at her, patted her hand reassuringly and went after him. "Got to make sure he doesn't throw himself into the bay or something!"

"Thanks, Varric," Alessa said as she came up beside her.

Bethany looked over at her and felt a swell of irrational anger. She knew Alessa had no way of knowing she was going to be here but it still seemed like she was hovering over her. As she always had except for the moment Bethany had really needed her. Anders had treated her like someone worthy of respect, Isabela treated her like an adult, but Alessa…even now she was staring at her with concern, opening her mouth to deliver one of her lectures. What right did she have? She'd gone gallivanting off so sure she was going to secure their family's future in the Deep Roads but who had been the one to give everything up? And Alessa had been _angry_ about that even though she hadn't been there to stop it!

Bethany felt Ella touch her arm hesitantly and clamped down on the surge of conflicting emotions, turning away from her sister. Ella was frightened enough as it was. She had to keep steady and strong for Ella now if she was going to get both of them back to the Gallows without arousing suspicion. She put an arm around Ella's shoulders, looking at Isabela, who gave her a smile. "Causing trouble again, are you, sweetness?"

"Hey, I was trying to keep her out of trouble." She glanced down at Ser Alrik and gave his body a hard kick. "Bastard."

Isabela smiled approvingly. Bethany was surprised when she reached out and took her free hand, squeezing it lightly. "I've missed you, sweetness. Have those books been helping to keep you warm? Or have you found someone to do that?"

"Isabela!" Bethany couldn't help but shoot a glance at her older sister. Alessa was crouched by Ser Alrik's body, searching through his satchel.

"What books?" Ella said, starting to get over her fear.

"Nothing. Nevermind." Bethany felt calmer now, taking a deep breath. "We'd better get back."

"We've got your back if you two want to run," Isabela said.

Bethany shook her head when Ella looked up at her. "I don't think so."

"Beth..." Alessa rose to her feet, giving her sister a troubled look.

"If we disappear at the same time as Alrik, they'll take it out on our families. Even if they don't, we'd have to leave Kirkwall because they'd never stop looking for us. And…I can't leave. The other mages need me." She gave her sister a significant look. "I've spent my whole life being looked after, but I don't need to be looked after anymore."

She looked at Ella, who sighed and nodded. "I don't want to get my family or yours in trouble. I'll go back."

"Now that Alrik's dead, I think we can get a letter out to your family. Ser Thrask will help us, I think." She looked at Isabela and her sister. "Thank you. What will you…?"

Isabela made a dismissive gesture. "I'll loot the bodies and drag them somewhere. I could nail his cock the door of the Knight-Commander's office, maybe? Eh, she probably wouldn't get the statement."

Bethany started to guide Ella back down the tunnel and paused, looking back. "Alessa? Will you…make sure Anders is all right?"

"Yeah. I have something to show him anyway." Alessa's voice was subdued. She was already turning away, moving toward the tunnels back to Darktown, without a backward glance. There was something so defeated in her posture that Bethany started to call her back and realized she had no idea what to say; or if she wanted to say anything.

In the end, she just guided Ella back to the Gallows, not even sparing Ser Alrik another glance. As far as she was concerned, his end had been far more merciful than he deserved.

* * *

Leandra found her eldest daughter sitting by the fire in the library later in the night. She was holding a piece of paper in her hand and staring into the flames. The light dancing over her features and the sad, haunted expression on her face made her look so much like Malcolm in that moment it made Leandra's breath catch.

She'd heard rumors that Dulci de Launcet had suspicions Alessa had been fathered by her husband before Leandra had run away. It was a shame she didn't have a picture of Malcolm to show them. All she would have had to do was hold it up beside Alessa. Carver and Bethany had both taken after their mother but Alessa…Alessa was the spitting image of Malcolm.

Leandra pulled up a chair beside her. "Bethany sent me a note. That nice Ser Thrask delivered it. Is Anders all right?"

"Yes. I checked in on him before he came home. You can tell her he's doing better now when you write back to her."

Leandra wondered why Alessa wasn't going to write that herself. She didn't elaborate, simply handing her mother the paper in her hand. Leandra scanned it, her eyes widening as she read:

_To Her Excellency, Divine Justinia,_

_I am well aware both you and Knight-Commander Meredith have rejected my proposal, but I beg you to reconsider. The mages in the Free Marches are past controlling, their numbers have doubled in three years, and they have found a way to plant their abominations in our ranks. They cannot be contained!_

_The Tranquil Solution is our answer. All mages at the age of majority must be made Tranquil. They'll coexist peacefully, retain their usefulness—a perfect strategy! It's simply the best way to ensure mages obey the laws of men and Maker._

_I remain, as always, your obedient servant,  
Ser Otto Alrik _

"'Plant their abominations in our ranks'? What idiocy is that?"

"I told you about that. About a year ago a blood mage found a way to turn some Templars into abominations. I guess it's easier for him to claim they were working with the mages than to admit it's possible not only mages are open to possession." Alessa shrugged, looking pensive. "Anders didn't expect the Divine or the Knight-Commander to reject that idea. It'll give him some food for thought, I hope. He even talked about going to talk to the Grand Cleric."

"She would never have allowed this," Leandra said, folding the letter and handing it back. The idea that such a man had been near her daughter made her blood boil. "Is he dead, Alessa? Tell me that much."

"He's dead, Mother."

"Good. It's not charitable to say so, but neither is insisting all mages need to be made Tranquil. Like it's as easy as branding cattle."

"His Tranquil Solution never went as far as his own twisted ideas; it was dead before he was." Alessa's voice was cool, dismissing the man's death with an ease that chilled even Leandra. A quiet sense of grief filled her, because Malcolm had also had that tone of resigned finality in his voice. He had never told her what he'd had to do to become free but she'd coaxed him through the nightmares and knew he never would have wished the same scars on his daughter's soul. But they were there anyway.

Alessa tapped the letter against her palm. "That's not the first time I've heard someone mention there are many more mages around than there used to be. Do you think it's true?"

Leandra considered that for a moment. "I don't know."

"That would be interesting to run by Zek and Haze. Maybe there's a way to track it."

Leandra chuckled, unable to help herself. When Alessa looked at her in confusion, Leandra brushed a lock of hair away from her face. "Sometimes you sound so much like your father that I could swear he's speaking through you."

Alessa looked back at the fire. "I miss him so much."

"I know, darling. So do I. The pain has been dulled by the years but it never quite goes away." Leandra took her hand.

"Bodhan mentioned…well…" Alessa cleared her throat, another habit she'd picked up from her father. Malcolm had always done that when he was trying to talk about something that embarrassed him. "He said you had some admirers. Suitors, maybe? And I just wanted to say that…you deserve to be happy. So, I mean…I'll approve of anyone who makes you happy. Not that you _need_ my approval, but…"

Leandra squeezed her hand, trying her best not to laugh. "Alessa, your father was the love of my life. No one will ever replace him. I've had a few men express interest, but no one has really caught my eye yet. But I will admit, I've been open to the possibility." She gave her a sly look. "The way you and Fenris have been looking at each other…ah, well, you won't want your old mother hanging around all the time."

Alessa blushed, averting her gaze. "I'm that obvious, eh?"

"So is he, my darling. Every time I've seen him in the past few months he's only had eyes for you."

Now the color in her cheeks was more pleasure than embarrassment. She really did love him, Leandra thought. She felt hope rise through her heart. Neither one of her girls had ever truly had the chance to experience love. She had her doubts about Fenris- he seemed to be a very troubled man. But if Alessa had found something in him to love, she didn't care about the talk centered around her because he was an elf.

Privately, Leandra also hoped Bethany would find someone now that she had so many others like her around. Although Anders was clearly in love with her daughter, he wasn't in any position to make Bethany happy at the moment, and she thought both of her daughters deserved a chance at happiness.

It was long overdue.


	30. Catalyst

_I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain._

**James Baldwin**

* * *

They finally tried to corner him in Darktown.

He'd wanted to deny it. He'd wanted to believe in such a large city he had a level of safety not available in anywhere else he'd sought shelter. He was tired of running, had enjoyed having somewhere to call his own, even if it was a stolen place.

Theta was the first one to warn him. Even though years had passed, she still kept an eye on Tevinters coming into the city, and her keen ears had picked up on a group with an accent all too similar to Fenris' a few weeks ago. Then Varric had gotten word someone was asking around about an elf with odd tattoos. The final warning was when Hawke had told him she'd caught glimpses of men following them lately, and she was pretty sure by this point that they were following _him_ specifically.

And now here they were.

Merrill had caught Hawke outside of the Hanged Man and asked her to help her with something in Darktown. Fenris had come with them, not trusting her around Hawke. It wasn't just the fact Merrill was a blood mage; the Dalish woman seemed more on edge lately and whatever she was on edge about she would likely try and drag Hawke along into it. Hawke's soft spot for the mage no longer baffled Fenris now that he understood Hawke a bit better. Merrill was on a path of utter destruction, wandering down it while ignoring the warnings shooting at her from all sides. No, not even wandering by this point. Marching determinedly. Hawke and the others thought they could help Merrill off that path or at least protect her. Fenris knew otherwise. They couldn't help her because Merrill wouldn't let them.

Merrill was showing something to Hawke that Fenris couldn't quite make out. She apparently attributed it to some form of blood magic she'd never seen before. He was focused on them enough at first he didn't notice that the street had become eerily quiet.

Hawke's slender frame went tense and she suddenly laid a hand on Merrill's arm to quiet her. Fenris was already turning. His sword was in his hands and he didn't remember drawing it, turning to scan the street, bristling inside. A hunter- not a mercenary, Fenris noted, but a member of Danarius' personal guard, wearing the colors of the magister's house -stepped out into the middle of the street several yards away. A man in mage robes stood beside him.

"There are more in the alleys around us," Hawke said quietly. Fenris nodded, absorbing the information without really hearing anything, his eyes on the mage.

The man's gaze flicked over Fenris, confirming he was the one he was looking for, before he turned his attention to Hawke, refusing to lower himself by speaking directly to a slave. He pointed at Hawke. "You are in possession of stolen property. Step away from the slave now and you will be spared!"

If Fenris had to pinpoint the exact moment where he truly fell in love with Alessa Hawke, he would say it was that moment after that hunter had spoken when she stared at the man with an utterly blank look on her face. It was only when she looked at Fenris in confusion and back that it registered and the confusion was washed away by a flood of indignant anger. She stiffened, her hands clenching into fists. "He's not a slave!"

The slaver merely rolled his eyes and gestured for his men to attack.

They'd played this out again and again, Fenris and the hunters. Enough he knew their fighting methods as well as he knew his own and the fools never bothered to try something different. The leader's arrogant expression faltered as Fenris launched an attack with such savage fury he barely had time to bring his sword up in defense. His graceful Tevinter forms, drilled into him since childhood, started to fail him in the face of Fenris' assault. The disbelief in his eyes, the clear struggle to comprehend how a slave could stand up to him, filled the elf with fierce satisfaction that was only heightened as his sword took the man's hand off. The leader screamed, the sound fading into a gurgle as Fenris' blade tore his life away.

He felt the heat of his lyrium markings flare in spiraling patterns over and beneath his skin, making his entire body thrum. There were shouts around him but he only heard them dimly. His focus was drawn taut, the rage and hate boiling up in him and making the world take on that ringing clarity. He could taste the foul sting of magic on the air, could feel the beat of his pulse in his ears as he turned, smoothly dodging one of the soldiers who was lunging for him. His sword cleaved the air and he could almost hear the air singing over the edge of the blade before he buried it into the man's back.

He'd been a fool to think he was free. To _hope_ so much that he was free.

Fenris turned around fully. Merrill was battling another of the soldiers. There were two more dead nearby. Yet another was trying to flee and Fenris caught up with him in a few strides, bringing him down.

_Where is Hawke?_

The question penetrated the haze of bloodlust around his mind and his head jerked around. For an instant, ice cold fear pierced him before he finally caught a glimpse of her. The damned Tevinter mage was trying to control her with blood magic…and failing. Even as Fenris watched, she broke free of the magic and lunged forward. Instead of attacking him with one of her daggers, she dropped to the ground beneath his swinging staff and swept one leg out, knocking him off balance. Alessa rolled and came up behind him, kicking him hard in the small of his back and throwing him forward. Even as Fenris moved toward them, Merrill brought the tip of her staff down on his back, pinning him.

Hawke turned as he came up and Merrill backed away from the man. He ignored both of them. Still riding on fury, Fenris knelt beside the mage and yanked his head back. The man's shocked, terrified eyes stared at him out of a face coated with mud and filth. One hand flailed around for his staff and Hawke brought a boot down onto his wrist. Fenris leaned in close enough their noses were almost touching, glaring into the mage's eyes. "Where is he?"

The man was sputtering, nearly incoherent with fear. "Please don't kill me."

Fenris snarled and slammed his head against the ground. Merrill squeaked, raising her hands to her mouth automatically, her eyes wide. "Tell me!" Fenris snarled.

"I don't know!" The mage sounded dazed now. "I don't know…I swear. Hadriana brought us. She's at the holding caves north of the city." Typical mage, he sounded eager to turn on his employer to save his own life. "I can show you the way!"

_Hadriana._ The mention of her name alone was enough to make Fenris' blood boil. "No need. I know which ones you speak of."

"Then let me go, I beg you." The pitiful tone only incited more anger in Fenris rather than sympathy. "I swear I won't…"

He was useless. "You chose the wrong master." Disgusted, Fenris snapped his neck with one hard twist. He let the man's head flop back to the ground and stood. "Hadriana…"

There was a flood of memories rushing through him. Pinches and slaps, cold hands touching him and wrenching him out of sleep. His master's senior apprentice, Hadriana was second only to Danarius while in his household. Not so outside of it. Other magisters had considered her obvious and gauche. Even the slaves heard jokes made about her.

So while in Danarius' home, she had a deep and abiding love for playing with people who were powerless to fight back.

Danarius had not given up. The fact he'd sent his student here showed he was just as determined as ever, if not more.

"Who is she, Fenris?" Hawke asked quietly.

"My old master's apprentice." Fenris stared down at the dead mage. "A sniveling social climber who would sell her own children if she thought it would please Danarius."

"Danarius…"

"Oh, if she's here, it's at his behest. I knew he wouldn't let this be!" His mind was racing. The holding caves were a good distance away. They only had a short period before Hadriana started to get worried that none of her soldiers had brought him back. They had to…

"Fenris, wait! Where are you going?" Hawke ran after him.

He glanced back at her. "If Hadriana is here, she won't stop."

" _Fenris!"_ Hawke jumped in front of him and for an instant he was tempted to throw her out of his way. The impulse shocked and shamed him enough to pause. Hawke was holding her hands out. "You don't know how many more she has with her in those caves or how long she's been there. She could have a small army and traps set at every inch of them for all we know."

"Or she may be completely unprepared at this moment. Or ready to flee. I won't let her get away, Hawke. I can't." He tried to push past her and she shook her head, staying in his path.

"Look, let's go get Aveline and she can gather up the guard. Slavery is illegal here, Fenris. A group of slavers taking up shop in one of the old slaver dens is more than enough to warrant the guard bringing them in."

"I don't want them arrested, Hawke. I want them _dead_." Fenris strode past her firmly. "It's a better message to Danarius."

She called after him again but he was barely listening, couldn't hear anything over the roar in his head.

Hadriana.

He could just imagine her ensconced deep within the old holding caves. Dens of suffering that were seeing slaves within them for the first time in years, because Hadriana most certainly would not have come without people to wait on her hand and foot.

She was surely waiting for her men to drag him back before her, Fenris thought. She'd have convinced herself it would be a simple matter she could get done quickly because even lyrium marked, he was a _slave_. What was a slave compared to a magister of the mighty Imperium? She was waiting with that smug, superior smile for them to deliver him into her hands so she could shake the dust of this provincial place off her shoes and parade him back into glorious Tevinter to Danarius and solidify her position. She was already dreaming of the vengeance she could take on the people who had mocked her in the past. Of the vengeance she could take out on him.

He had a surprise for her, he thought, bitter anger rising in him with every step. Danarius wasn't here to protect her. _She_ was the one who was nothing here. _She_ was the one who didn't belong. Even more than seeing her die, Fenris wished he could see every single tiny moment of growing fear on her face when she realized he was coming for her.

By the time Hawke managed to catch up to him, the need to put that fear into Hadriana was all he could think about. Fenris was so consumed by it that he barely registered how quiet Hawke was. He only barely acknowledged when Merrill and Varric caught up with them. Merrill must have gone straight to the Hanged Man. Varric had brought Moose along, and Fenris was aware enough to wonder why Varric had brought the dog and not Hawke, but it was an afterthought. Because the holding caves were just in sight and in the growing twilight, he could make out torches at the entrance of one of them. Even as he watched, a guard came to the mouth of the cave and peered out.

"She picked a good place to hole up," Varric said in a low voice. "Those holding caves were designed to stand against raids from other slavers."

"No doubt that's why she chose it," Fenris agreed.

Hawke moved up to his other side, squinting. "Two sentries at the entrance at most."

"She'll have gathered most of them closer to her. She's probably worried by this point. Let's not waste anymore time."

* * *

Moving through the caves was nightmarishly like moving back into his past. Cells lined the corridors and the heavy taint of blood magic saturated everything. The mage that had accompanied the hunters was obviously the only one Hadriana had been willing to spare because the caves were swarming with them and their undead minions.

When they reached the first sacrifice, he half expected to see Danarius standing over the body with a knife in his hand. He clasped a hand over his wrist, half expecting to find a shackle there, holding him to the floor while he waited for the pain to start. Waited for his master to start drawing power from him.

Hawke said his name softly as she came up beside him. He didn't look at her, staring at the man- an elderly elf –stretched out on the bloody alter. From the look on his face, his end had not been quick or painless. "The legacy of the magisters," he said quietly. Moose stepped forward and sniffed the alter then retreated to Hawke's side with a whine.

"They sacrifice the unwilling?" Merrill's voice came from behind them.

Hearing the horror in her voice after watching her rend another mage from the inside out with blood magic minutes before hit Fenris the wrong way. "Is that so hard to believe? You are only a step away from it yourself!"

Merrill looked stunned. "That's not true!"

Fenris clenched his fist, struggling to keep from lashing out. "Believe what you like," he said in disgust. "In my experience, mages always find a way to justify their need for power."

Hawke intervened. "We'd better keep moving."

Fenris stepped away from the alter, struggling to shut away his memories. "Yes. This is likely only the first person she's sacrificed. She's gathering power even as we speak."

Even Fenris had not expected how bad it was. There was slaughter in nearly every room they passed through. Toward the back of the cave complex, Hadriana appeared to have gathered a large group of them together and killed them all at once, leaving their bodies in a pile in the center of the room.

She'd killed one and then used the blood magic raised by the murder to kill the others all at once. Danarius favored that form of sacrifice as well.

"These poor people!" Merrill burst out, shaking her head and raising her hands to her cheeks. "This is…ghastly."

"She's likely to be laying some kind of trap for us with all this power," Hawke said. Her hand was resting on the elf mage's shoulder but in stark contrast to the horror in Merrill's voice, Hawke's was calm and almost cold. She was staring at the mountain of bodies with hooded eyes. Moose paced around it, sniffing and letting out low, rumbling growls, though whether the dog was reacting to the bodies or his mistress's emotions, Fenris wasn't sure.

Fenris met Hawke's eyes for a long, burning moment, knowing what that coldness for what it was. Cold anger. Focused hate. Anger that ran so deep it burned down to the core of the soul.

_Hadriana_.

He turned toward the door at the back of the chamber. It was ominously quiet. Not even a guard on the door. Whatever she was preparing for them was beyond it.

Later, Varric complained about how anti-climatic the whole thing was. Fenris would never regret being cautious when going up against a mage, but his interactions with Hadriana every time before had been as a slave. Until that moment he met her wide eyes across the room, he hadn't fully realized what a fool she was. Or rather, how inept she was to lead a battle. She had only a handful of soldiers left; she'd used up all her mages already and she was obviously hoping the power she had gathered would be enough to bring them down.

It wasn't.

One of the soldiers charged him. Fenris stepped aside without taking his eyes off Hadriana, a glowing fist smashing though his armor. Blood spurted from the man's mouth as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed. Then his companions went after the rest of the soldiers, drawing them off him, leaving him free to focus on their leader. She focused on him as completely as he focused on her. She was struggling to appear masterful and calm but the façade cracked with every step he took. She snarled something, her entire body glowing as she rose into the air. Blood magic pounded the air between them and he saw her lips curve into a smile as claws of magic dug into his brain, trying to take control of him. Once again replicating her master. Once again underestimating him.

His lyrium marks flared, shattering her hold like glass and ricocheting back at her. She fell, stumbling as her feet crashed to the ground. She stared at him with shock that turned into sheer terror. The fierce joy that sang along his nerves when he saw that expression almost frightened him. Then he was upon her. She tried to call a spell and was cut off as he struck her hard across the face, knocking her backward into the wall. He tore her staff from her hands and threw it aside. Hadriana rolled, grasping blindly for it and he stepped in front of her.

Hadriana scrambled back, flailing a hand upward as if to shield herself. The lyrium had nullified her magic momentarily so the gesture meant nothing. "Stop!"

Even now she thought she was in charge, Fenris thought, bringing his sword up.

"You do not want me dead!" Hadriana insisted.

Fenris almost laughed. "There is only one person that I want dead more," he was happy to inform her.

"I have information, elf. And I will trade it in return for my life." Hadriana struggled into a sitting position.

"The location of Danarius?" Fenris guessed. "What good will that do me? I'd rather he lose his pet pupil."

"You have a sister!" The words came out so fast they didn't register at first. "She is alive! Let me go, and I will tell you where she is."

She had to have guessed those were the only words that could have stopped him in his tracks.

A sister. One of those faces that flickered through his head from time to time was his own flesh and blood.

Hadriana was watching him, some of her fear fading and some of her confidence returning now that she had something to bargain with. "So I have your word? I tell you and you let me go?" she said eagerly.

Fenris sheathed his sword and crouched to look at her. His inner conflict, mingled hope and hate, must have shown on his face because she was smiling even as he nodded. "Yes. You have my word."

The stupid bitch actually breathed a sigh of relief. "Her name is Varania. She is Korinus serving a magister by the name of Ahriman."

"A servant, not a slave?"

"She's not a slave," Hadriana hastened to reassure him.

"I believe you." Fenris shifted, his lyrium brands flaring to life. He gave Hadriana a long moment to realize what was coming, savoring the sudden shock and fear in her eyes before he plunged his hand into her chest, shredding her heart and pulling his hand back without leaving a mark.

* * *

It was really too bad Hadriana hadn't looked away from Fenris for a moment to see Varric and Hawke exchange a glance when he gave his word he would let her go. That deluded look of hope almost made Hawke feel sorry for her. Almost.

Fenris stepped back from Hadriana's dead body and turned toward them, his head down. "We are done here."

Hawke really wished she could see his face because she was having a hard time judging what he was feeling. "I think she was telling the truth about your sister…"

"What does it matter?" He spun to face her and she took a step back, wishing she hadn't said anything. "Even if she was, Danarius has to know about this sister and has to know that Hadriana knows. Trying to find her would be suicide." He glared at Hadriana's corpse. "But all that matters is I finally crushed this bitch's heart. May she rot. And all the other mages with her."

The entire time they'd been traveling through this cave, his rage had almost scalded the air but it had been entirely focused on Hadriana. Now she was dead and he had nothing to channel that rage toward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Merrill retreat behind Varric.

_I don't want to be afraid of you, Fenris._ Hawke stepped toward him, defying her own nervousness and the flicker of guilt at the desire that coiled in the pit of her stomach like dark fire. Even in his anger he was magnificent. "Let's get out of here, Fenris." He needed to get away from Hadriana, these caves, and all the reminders of the place he'd fled from.

She laid a hesitant hand on his arm and he jerked away. "Do not comfort me. You saw what was done here. There's always going to be some reason, some excuse why mages need to do this. Even if I found my sister, who knows what the magisters have done to her? What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?"

Moose growled at him and Alessa Hawke, the daughter and sister of a mage, flinched and looked down, trying not to be hurt by those words and failing. Fenris must have seen it, because he seemed to deflate like the anger was being drained from him. He turned away again and strode across the room. "I…need to go."

He did. She recognized that need to back away and think on his own, Hawke let him, sighing. Varric and Merrill both glared after him and the dwarf looked about ready to say something but he checked himself, just shaking his head.

It was well into the night when they finally returned to Kirkwall. After looting the bodies and whatever the slavers had in the caves, they'd left them there. Let the animals feast.

Orana was a more complicated matter. The only survivor of Hadriana's servants, the young elf was traumatized after watching her father and fellow slaves killed off. Hawke had told her to stay put and given her some gold with instructions to go to Leandra in Kirkwall if anything happened. Hawke was relieved when she'd seen the girl still waiting for them. She'd been worried Orana would have been hurt or robbed trying to get to Kirkwall. Once she'd gotten her there, however, Hawke wasn't quite sure what to do with her. Her first thought was to turn her over to the Chantry, but Hawke just didn't have the heart to do it so soon after all she'd been through. She'd taken her home and luckily, once Leandra heard her story, she'd taken Orana under her wing immediately. Maybe they could hire her until she got over her culture shock and figured out what she wanted to do, Hawke thought as she watched her mother fuss over the girl.

The thought had her moving back out the door, leaving her mother and Bodhan to get Orana settled. She stopped by Fenris' mansion but he wasn't there. Discouraged and worried, hoping he'd found someplace safe to rest, she returned home only to find him waiting for her in the entrance hall.

He looked so tired and drained. The day had taken its toll on all of them, him most of all. But there was still an edgy tension to his posture that told her he hadn't fully spent his anger. "I've been thinking about what happened with Hadriana." He paused a few feet away from her with an expression she would have called sheepish on anyone else. "I took out my anger on you. Undeservedly so. I was…not myself. I'm sorry, Hawke."

She'd forgiven him even before she'd left the caves. "Are you all right? I was worried."

"I needed to be alone. I…" He shook his head. "When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me. Deny my meals. Hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to respond and she knew it." The memories were winding him up again and she resisted the urge to put her arms around him. "The thought of her slipping out of my grasp…I couldn't let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn't."

Hawke blinked at him in shock. "You wanted to let her go?"

"This _hate_ in me, Alessa…I thought I'd gotten away from it, but it dogs me no matter where I go." He looked haunted now, his green eyes focused on her without really seeing her, lost in a sea of emotion. "To feel it again…to know it was they who planted it inside me…it was too much to bear."

"Fenris." She took a step forward when he turned away, shaking his head in frustration.

"I didn't come here to burden you further."

She knew better than to grab hold of him suddenly. Her only excuse was she was frustrated as he was and she found the idea that he considered himself a burden for even a moment to be unbearable. She grasped his arm to halt him. She only had time to see him go tense, his markings lighting up, and then the room whooshed around her as Fenris drove her back against the wall, glaring into her eyes from inches away. A second later, he realized what he was doing and released her like his hands were on fire. For a moment, the look on his face twisted into such guilt and sorrow it broke her heart. She caught him before he could back away, sliding a hand over the back of his neck and pressing her lips to his. She wanted to tell him it was all right. That it all was. That she wasn't disgusted with him for any of it, not Hadriana, not his hatred, none of it, but she didn't have the words, so she tried to show him.

This time he pressed her back against the wall with an entirely different kind of ferocity. He kissed her hard, channeling all that pent up emotion into it, drowning her. Hawke slipped her fingers into his hair, her body arching against his helplessly. He did this to her every time he touched her. She'd heard of being swept away by passion but Maker help her, she had never truly understood it before Fenris. She couldn't think. She wasn't aware of anything except the feel of that lean, hard body against hers.

He said her name, that rich voice dancing along her nerves, and pulled back to look at her, his hands drifting down her sides.

She touched his face. "You never burden me, Fenris. I just needed to say that."

Fenris closed his eyes and let his forehead against hers, letting his hands rest on her hips. His breathing was as uneven as hers and it didn't hurt her pride any that his hands were shaking as he pulled away. Her hands tightened on his arms. "Fenris…"

"If I don't leave right now, I'm going to take you right here, Hawke." His voice was soft, his lips ghosting across hers.

She was well aware there were plenty of reasons that was a bad idea but she was having a hard time remembering a single one. She took his hand and stepped away from the wall, tugging gently. Fenris resisted and she tugged again. "Don't leave, Fenris. Stay with me."

"I think it's best for both of us right now if I leave." He drew her close, framing her face in his hands. "I don't want a shadow of Danarius or Hadriana or anything of the magisters between us, Hawke."

Alessa closed her eyes and took deep breath, letting it out in a huff. "You know, taking away my ability to think just so you can sound more rational than me for once isn't playing fair."

That got a smile from him that was pleased, smug and purely male. He looked more at ease than he had for weeks. She would have known better if her thoughts had been clear, but she was too happy to see it.

He kissed her once more before he slipped out, slow and lingering, and Hawke watched him disappear into the night.

* * *

Fenris, his blood starting to cool, glanced back once to see her figure framed by light in the door. For some reason, the unwelcome thought that Hawke made him lose control almost as completely as his anger had passed through his mind. He shook his head like he could shake that thought loose. Ridiculous. But it did make him wonder if it wouldn't be best if he stepped back and stayed away from her for a while, which conflicted hard with the fact he truly didn't want to. He didn't want to be away from her, even taking that job on the Wounded Coast for a few days he'd thought of her almost constantly and was almost pathetically grateful to return to Kirkwall…and to Hawke.

Troubled by the intensity of it, Fenris was even more determined to retreat for a while into his own thoughts, away from everyone's influence. Including Hawke's.

It was the opinion of most of them later that if he'd actually done that, it might have been better for both of them.


	31. Lovers' Tears

 

_Hell's afloat in lover's tears._

**\- Dorothy Rothschild Parker**

* * *

_Fenris stood at his window and stared out over Kirkwall, listening to the footsteps echoing from the hall beyond and forcing himself not to go after her. He actually had to dig his hands into the windowsill when the door banged shut behind Hawke and the movement brought his eyes to the soft red cloth tied around his wrist. He stared at it, knowing he should take it off and unable to make himself do so._

_It was done, he told himself. It was over and that was best for both of them._

_Eventually, he would push himself away from the window and head to the Hanged Man._

_He was going to need something to drink if he was going to convince himself of that._

* * *

Fenris thought he might very well be going mad.

He paced back and forth in the entrance hall of the mansion. When he ran his fingers through his hair, the clawed gauntlets scraped against his scalp. He tore them off and tossed them aside.

Having Hawke constantly in his thoughts was not something new to him. He thought about her all the time. Often throughout the day, something she'd done or said would pass across his mind. And the dreams that came to him in the night…

This was different. She dominated every thought since the night before. He'd backed away because he'd needed time to think but he had not been able to. His mind was unable to pull away from the memory of her mouth on his, fixated on the way her body seemed to fit perfectly against his like a puzzle piece.

He wanted her so much he couldn't think of anything else.

There was some defiance in there as well. It was true he had not wanted Hadriana or Danarius to be in his thoughts while he was with Hawke but the more he considered it, the more it galled him. The fact Hadriana, dead, and Danarius, absent, were interfering with him and Hawke- that he was _letting_ them do it –angered him.

He could almost hear Danarius laugh, feel his hands on his skin, claiming him, assuring him he would never truly escape.

Unable to stand being enclosed, Fenris shoved out of the mansion and into Kirkwall's evening, passing through Hightown like a shadow. He actually missed his early days in Kirkwall when he could wander Lowtown and Darktown before gangs and thieves knew about him and were stupid enough to attack. It helped him burn off some tension and Aveline had appreciated him making the streets a little safer.

It started raining as the night closed in, a downpour that had water running in the streets by the time he returned to Hightown. The urge to veer toward Hawke's estate was a powerful one. He stood on the street, looking down to where it stood, trying to talk himself into just continuing on, when he caught sight of her.

Of course, he'd figured Hawke would be up. She kept late nights, reading in her library. Often when nightmares or insomnia plagued his sleep, he would join her, browsing her selection of books more and more freely as he found himself able to read more and more of them.

However, he'd forgotten about her odd habit of walking outside when it was raining. Fenris had seen her do it several times. He'd also overheard comments from her neighbors about it but Hawke shrugged them off, pointing out they thought she was strange anyway.

She was walking in front of her estate now, her face turned up toward the driving rain. When lightning crashed across the sky, it lit up her features. Her simple dress was plastered to her body, her hair sleek against her head and face. Thunder shook the sky and she smiled at the sound. Fenris lifted his head, squinting against the rain. He'd wondered what it was she saw up there. Surely something no one else was because she was Hawke and she saw things in a different way than anyone else he knew.

Fenris had not realized he was walking toward her until she paused and turned toward him, startled. Her hand slipped to the knife in her belt for a moment before she recognized him. She smiled at him, that slow burning smile that softened her face and lit her eyes.

That smile finished him. He couldn't have resisted closing the distance between them even if he'd wanted to. His mouth slanted across hers and her arms came around his neck as she kissed him back. Fenris wasn't sure which one of them dragged the other to the door of the estate but they were suddenly enveloped in the warmth of her home, the rain reduced to a steady drum on the roof and windows.

He stared into her eyes- those strange, beautiful eyes. "I've been thinking about you. I can't think about anything else." His lips hovered a breath away from hers. "Ask me to go, Hawke, and I will." It would kill him, but he would.

She pressed closer to him. "Stay. Please, stay. I need you, Fenris."

Need. Not want. _Need._ It was amazing how such a simple word could be so intoxicating. When he kissed her again, she made a sound deep in her throat, a primal moan he had never imagined he would hear from her. The knowledge that he was the cause of it drove him wild.

She drew him along as she had the night before and this time he went with her, blind to anything but her. Hawke seemed equally entranced by him, stumbling a bit as she led the way to her room, her eyes never leaving his face. The second the door was closed and locked behind them, he was pressing her against the wall. He'd left his gauntlets behind in the mansion and he was glad for it, sliding his fingers into the wet silk of her hair as he kissed her again and again. Her arms came tight around him again, her body sagging against his and when he pulled back, she licked her lips and looked up at him with a dazed expression. He brushed a thumb across her lips, a tremor of uncertainty shivering through him. "Are you all right?"

"I don't think my legs will hold me up," she murmured back, swaying in his hold.

Fenris smiled, feeling arrogantly pleased with himself. "Have you been thinking about me, Alessa?"

"All day." She arched against the wall when he slid his hands down her body. She didn't protest when he tore the buttons of her dress, peeling the wet cloth away to bare her skin.

She started pulling at his clothing with shaking fingers and he caught her hands, pinning them against the wall above her head. "Say it again…" He brushed his lips across hers, his tongue flicking across her lower lip. He was teasing her, but he couldn't help it.

"I need you…" She breathed it, trying to lean forward and deepen the kiss. "Fenris, please…"

He leaned forward and kissed her properly, his hands roaming, pulling her skirt up, dropping one hand down to let a hand glide up her thigh. Her skin might have still been cooled by the rain but there was heat between her legs when his fingers came to rest there and the rain had nothing to do with how wet she was. He was grinding against her mindlessly, his mouth trailing down her throat as she pulled at the fastenings of his leggings. He was hard, aching, and he actually felt lightheaded when she freed him, wrapping her fingers around the length of his cock.

Fenris swore in his native tongue and shoved her skirt up around her hips, tearing her smallclothes away with one hard pull before he hiked her up against the wall and drove into her. Hawke cried out and he froze, shuddering from the force of it, afraid he'd hurt her until she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him frantically. "Don't stop…"

It was all the encouragement he needed. He moved in her with hard, fast strokes, sliding his hands beneath her legs and drawing them further apart, opening her for him. His entire world narrowed down to the slap of flesh against flesh and the way she clenched deliciously around him. She was wet and slick and Maker help him, he couldn't remember feeling anything like this.

On the heels of that, his mind seemed to shift and for an instant he remembered another woman's body beneath his, another clamped around him, moving with more purpose than passion. He shuddered helplessly, slamming a hand against the wall beside her head as he came.

Even in the twisting mix of lust and confusion, he could still feel her trembling, her body tense and unfulfilled. His hand slid between them seemingly of its own volition, his mind still lost in that half formed memory. His body remembered the motions even if his mind didn't completely. Fenris dipped his head down, capturing one of her nipples between his lips, flicking his tongue over it. When she bucked against him, he used her movement, his fingers slipping down where their bodies were still joined, finding that nub at the apex of her sex and swirling the tips of his fingers over it. Hawke sobbed his name and he closed his eyes as she clenched around him, her body thrashing between his and the wall as her climax rocked her.

They slid down the wall in a heap, panting. He was still buried deep inside her, already starting to harden again.

_You have to be careful. Sometimes knowing how to please your master is the only way to stop yourself from being killed. Other times it might_ get _you killed._

Who had she been? Someone before his memories had been erased, obviously. Teaching him, perhaps? For a good looking slave, knowing bedroom arts could be a life saving skill…and possibly a weapon in some cases. Danarius had known. Hadn't Hadriana started to truly hate him when she'd tried to take control of him in her bed one night and ended up sobbing like a whore because he…

Fenris buried his face against Hawke's shoulder, drawing her tight against him. No no no…he wouldn't let them taint this. Not here. She brushed her fingers through his hair and murmured his name, asking him what was wrong. He couldn't tell her, couldn't even find the words to say it, so he kissed her instead, tasted that sweet mouth like he would drown without it.

"Think we can make it to the bed?" she murmured when they pulled apart to breathe. That flashing smile of hers curved her lips, her eyes sparkling in a way that made his breath catch. He nodded and moved back, both of them gasping when he pulled out of her. She used the wall to push herself to her feet…a bit unsteadily, he couldn't help but note smugly.

The smugness vanished when she pushed the dress over her hips and wriggled free of the damp cloth, letting it pool at her feet, leaving her naked in front of him.

Hawke didn't know she was beautiful. Fenris was quite sure of this. Or rather, she didn't know _how_ beautiful she was. Soft skin rode over hard muscle, there were calluses on her hands and scars- from accidents, from battle, from the harshness of her life in general –that he thought enhanced rather than marred her. She was no lady magister decorating herself with silk and jewels to hide the corruption in her, not Hawke. He wondered if that was part of why he was so drawn to her. There was no lie in Alessa Hawke and that made her beauty more pure somehow.

She lifted her eyes to his and paused when she saw he was staring at her, looking uncertain suddenly. "Fenris?"

He stepped forward, running his fingers down her cheek, never taking his eyes of her. "You are so beautiful, Hawke." She blushed, smiling and he leaned forward to kiss her. "So beautiful."

Some of the urgency…the _need_ …had been sated. This kiss was slow, a lazy slide of lips and tongue and gently nipping teeth. She was pulling at his belt and then his tunic all the while. When her hands parted the leather, he shrugged his shoulders to help her slide it off him, the moment of tension at having his markings bared so buried underneath his craving for her touch. Alessa rested her hands lightly against his sides and ran them lightly up, over his ribs. He tensed, unable to help it, and she withdrew immediately, looking up at him. "Does that hurt? I'm…"

He caught her hands and pressed them against his chest again, encouraging her wordlessly, almost a plea though he wouldn't realize that until later. Like her touch could erase the memories of pain. She stared up at him for a long moment and then dropped her gaze. She started tracing her fingers in swirling lines over him; not over the markings but the skin between them. He held still, the tension running from him, fascinated. The look on her face…

Fenris had seen a similar look before, when she was looking at the sky, the stars, whatever grabbed the attention of that quicksilver mind of hers. It was an expression of quiet wonder and it echoed in the way she touched him. She let out a soft breath as the last of his clothing slid away and left nothing between his skin and hers, looking over him like she couldn't stop herself, bright color in her cheeks.

Something deep inside him that had been misaligned slipped into place. For that instant, he was just a man enjoying the desire in the gaze of a woman. _His_ woman.

They left the trail of clothing behind them on the way to the bed. Hawke slid over the covers, reaching for him as he settled beside her, running her fingers over him lightly again, like she wanted to memorize every line of him by touch. This…this was what would undo him, this made him tremble in a way nothing else had; the tenderness in her touch and the wonder in her eyes. He'd felt an inkling of it long ago on Seheron but it didn't compare to _this_. And before that, in the Imperium, sex was a weapon…or a punishment.

Again came that strange twist in his memories: the slide of skin over skin, of urgent passion. Fenris' brow furrowed as he realized that must have come before the ritual, before Danarius had singled him out as his personal pet. Another slave? He rather thought it had been. He remembered walking the halls of Danarius' home and seeing slaves coupling furtively in corners, stealing a few precious minutes with one another. Maybe he'd been one such at one point before the markings…

Fenris shivered as slender fingers trailed up the line of his ears, closing his eyes and tipping his head back, drawn back to the present. He rested his hand on Hawke's hip and ran it slowly up her side, trailing a path up her body to her breast, watching as her body bowed in response. Perhaps in response to that flicker of memory, he found himself wanting this to go slowly despite the need building up in him again. He kissed her again for the simple pleasure of her taste, trailed his lips softly down her neck for the sheer enjoyment of feeling how soft the skin was there, arched his body into her touch as she ran her hands over him. Her cries from earlier echoed through his head and he slipped a hand between her legs, wanting to hear them again, stroking her until she was whimpering his name and writhing against the covers. Alessa reached down and wrapped her fingers around him and his control shattered. He covered her with his body, sliding into her with a slow thrust that had her crying out and wrapping herself around him, pressing him in as deep as he could. Fenris growled her name, moving in her slow and hard, fighting to hold back, his green eyes intent on her face. "Look at me, Alessa." Where the tone of command in his voice came from he wasn't sure but she obeyed it, looking up at him, her eyes dark and hazed with pleasure. When she started to close her eyes helplessly, he slipped one hand into her hair, forcing her to look at him. "Look at me…" He wanted to see her eyes the exact moment that she came, wanted to hear his name on her lips.

And he would. Here in his arms, Hawke wasn't a warrior or a scholar or a noble; just a woman caught in the grip of a dance as old as time. She was his, plain and simple. It was power of a sort, a far sweeter power than any he'd seen before, and she gave herself over to it without hesitation.

Fenris felt her shaking beneath him and gripped her hips, driving himself into her hard, watching, enraptured, as her eyes went blind and she threw her head back helplessly, clamping down around him inside and out, her nails digging into his shoulders. She called his name wildly and he smiled, burying his face against her throat and breathing in the scent of her as he gave himself over to his own need, not calling her name but whispering it against her skin.

* * *

 

The fire in the hearth was dying, casting the room in shadow, only the dimmest of light playing over the bed. Fenris watched it, Hawke curled against his side, her head settled on his chest and her arm draped across him. Her breathing was deep and even and there was a soft smile on her lips.

She looked completely at peace, the polar opposite of what he was feeling.

He couldn't relax. Memories tugged at him and he couldn't use her as a distraction any longer. Fenris winced at the thought. He hadn't been using Hawke, his mind insisted. He'd wanted her even before those memories started to stir.

The warm line of her body alongside his seemed like a chain around him and yet he couldn't make himself move away, touching her lightly even as she slept. A chain that he wanted to be bound by.

The thought had him pulling away from her carefully and rising from the bed, moving to stand in front of the hearth, staring into the fire determinedly even when his eyes wanted to drift back to Hawke seemingly of their own volition. The flames didn't make anything in his head clearer, names and faces that drifted fleetingly and then fled before he could grasp them, leaving behind vague impressions and emotions. He'd spent so long wrapped up only in his hate and determination it was hard to believe he'd ever been able to feel anything else. But he had. He knew that now. For a woman with warm, comforting arms and eyes like his, eyes that had watched him full of worry and love and despair…despair for what? Something he'd been about to do, but he couldn't remember what. And another woman, an elven slave like him, who watched him with intense hunger, whose name he didn't remember but whose hands and body had taught him how to use his own.

Behind him, Hawke shifted in the bed and murmured his name in her sleep. He closed his eyes, his heart flipping at the sound, sending his already tumultuous emotions into more of a spin.

She did that to him. She'd done that to him from the very start. Even backing away from her didn't let him sort his thoughts out because she affected him even when she wasn't present. Nothing he felt for her was simple and she pulled him so many ways he didn't know what he was feeling for certain at any time. He'd acknowledged that he wanted this, wanted her, without realizing how _much_.

Would it always be like that with her? The past and the present crashing together?

With his hunger for her appeased for the moment, he couldn't stop the comparison to the way Danarius had imprinted himself on his mind every chance he had and the way Hawke had done the same without trying. He hated himself for drawing a comparison between the two of them, but couldn't stop it.

Fenris turned abruptly from the fire and crossed the room, picking up his clothes and dressing swiftly. He couldn't do this. He needed to get away, to be alone. A voice in his head jeered at him and called him a coward for running. He was a coward and he was running, he admitted to himself. He paused as he slid his tunic back on, looking over where Hawke still slept. A mistake. She was curled up on her side, one arm stretched out like she was reaching for him. The covers had been pulled down by her movements, draped across her hips and leaving her upper body bare. The sight sent a jolt of lust through him that was so powerful his hands almost itched to touch her.

If she'd been a mage, he would have wondered if she had bewitched him.

He clamped down on the urge to return to the bed. He'd already allowed his impulses to take control and indulging them again was a dangerous path. His ability to control himself had been the only thing that allowed him to survive all these years. If he gave over to it, hate or lust, he might well become the animal Danarius had always claimed he was. A rabid little wolf.

Hawke murmured his name again and he knew this time she was waking up. He considered simply slipping out the door and was immediately ashamed of himself. Instead, he returned to the hearth, staring into the fire because he didn't trust himself to look at her. He heard her move on the bed and there was a long period of silence as she took in the sight of him standing dressed by the fire. "Fenris?"

He cringed and stared hard at the fire, fighting the impulse to turn toward her. He heard the slap of her bare feet on the floor and flinched back. She must have seen it because her footsteps stopped. "Are you all right? I…was it that bad?"

The ridiculousness of that question startled him so much his head jerked toward her automatically. "That's not…" She was mere feet away, looking up at him, the firelight playing over the planes of her body. He could see marks from his fingers and mouth livid against her pale skin. "It was fine." The fact he had to turn away to keep himself from dragging her to the floor and taking her again made that an understatement. "No, that is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

"Do your markings hurt?" Hawke moved closer and he actually took a full step back this time, a feeling very close to panic rising up in him. He tried to explain, had no idea how to explain something he didn't have any understanding of himself and judging from the increasingly bewildered look on her face, he wasn't making any sense. He finally stopped, staring at her for a long moment. She looked as lost and confused as he felt and he couldn't stand the sight of it. "All I wanted was to be happy, just for a little while," he said hopelessly. He was already turning away and didn't see her take a step back, her confusion turning into pain. "Forgive me."

She said his name and he ignored it, ignored the frightening pain in his own chest and the bone deep knowledge that there was nowhere in Thedas he could run to escape it.

* * *

_Fenris was drawn out of his memories when Varric settled in the chair across from him. He was sitting at a corner table. No one bothered him, although Norah, the barmaid, kept glaring at him and Corff was notably cool. Varric sat back, holding a tankard in one hand. "Hawke left a few minutes before you came in. Never seen her hit the hard liquor like that."_

_Fenris cringed, realizing what all the cool looks were for now. Hawke had already been slightly drunk when she'd come to see him._

" _I stopped to talk to her about you, wanted to tell her to be careful around you. You know…you got issues."_

_Fenris glared at him._

" _Too late, according to her. Care to explain, Broody? You disappear for a week and Hawke walks around that entire time looking like she got a knife through her gut. You come back, she goes to see you, and when she comes back out, she hits the bar straightaway."_

" _None of your business, dwarf."_

" _I say she looked like she got a knife in the gut, but actually its more like someone shoved a glowy, spiky hand into her chest and tore her heart out," Varric continued mercilessly._

_Fenris closed his eyes. He just wanted to drink enough he could blur the memory of Hawke's face. She'd come to him for some kind of explanation that he didn't have to give her. That naïve arrogance of hers, the surety that whatever it was, they could work through it, had made him lash out more harshly than he'd intended. They couldn't work through anything and if he had to cause her some pain in order to spare them both a lot more of it down the road, so be it._

_She was dangerous to him. And he was dangerous to her._

_But it would have been so much easier if she hadn't broken down and pleaded with him. Her anger was much easier to deal with than her hurt. He finally opened his eyes. "I can't be what she needs me to be," he finally said, his voice quiet._

_Varric stared at him for a long time before pushing himself up. "If you really think that way, elf, then she's better off without you."_

_Fenris didn't have an answer to that. He watched Varric head back up to his suite and polished off the rest of his bottle. He had wine back in his mansion to help him finish the journey into the Fade and make sure he didn't dream tonight. Not of Danarius' cruelty but of soft fingers tracing the skin between his markings and a voice whispering his name._


	32. Aftermath

 

_Two separate, distinct personalities, not separate at all, but inextricably bound, soul and body and mind, to each other, how did we get so far apart so fast?_

**\- Judith Guest**

* * *

A jolly old party the three of them made, Varric thought. He, Anders, and Hawke were all sitting at a table in his suite at the Hanged Man. Anders was nursing a tankard of ale, Varric had a bottle of good whiskey sitting between him and Hawke, who had a pot of strong black tea and was spiking each cup with a healthy serving from the bottle.

They hadn't done much talking since they'd returned to the Hanged Man.

Hawke swirled her tea in the mug and spoke up finally, her voice quiet. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Already sent someone back to get him. They'll take him to a sanitarium in Cumberland run by the Chantry," Varric said.

Hawke nodded. "I never thought I'd feel sorry for him."

"I know." Varric rubbed his forehead and leaned back with a sigh, barely glancing up when footsteps clunked along the hall outside and Isabela burst in without knocking, swinging a bottle of rum idly in one hand.

She stopped and cocked her head as she took all of them in. "Well, this looks like a party."

"We found Bartrand," Varric said. "He was in Ravain for a while but he came back."

That stopped Isabela in her tracks. She dropped down into the remaining chair between Anders and Hawke. "He came back here? Is he mad?"

Hawke shuddered, her hand tightening around her mug. When Isabela looked at her in question, Hawke simply poured more tea, added a generous portion of whiskey, and drank.

"That damned idol…" Anders spoke up for the first time, looking haunted.

Isabela looked between them, uncertain. Varric rubbed his temples and gave her a watered down version of what had happened at Bartrand's Estate.

He'd imagined getting revenge on Bartrand for so many years. He and Anders had joked about different ways to do it. Boiling in oil. Dipping him in gold and setting him in the Viscount's Keep.

But what they had seen in Bartrand's estate…

He had never liked his brother. Not really. That was the thing about family. You were bound by blood to a group of individuals that weren't your kind of people. But for all he'd disliked Bartrand, seeing him raving and wailing, his mind erased, had actually hurt Varric in a way he'd never thought it could.

Proud, icy Bartrand, who had dragged their house through exile and out the other side, building them up in the Merchant Guild with all the arrogance of a Paragon.

Even having held that idol in his own hand and remembering all too well how it had affected him, he had never considered what it might do to his brother. Even knowing what Bartrand was like hadn't prepared him for what his brother had done to his own people. He'd tortured his servants. He'd forced his guards to drink lyrium. And seeing all of that still hadn't prepared him for the sniveling wreck that his brother had become, talking to people who weren't there. Anders had brought him out of it temporarily using his connection to the Fade, but Bartrand seemed even crazier after it had worn off.

Isabela sat silent for a long time, drinking her rum slowly. "He sold that idol, then?" she finally said.

"Or it actually was stolen. Who knows?" Varric stared at the table.

"So who's this shining diamond woman who took it?"

Hawke snorted. "Bartrand barely knew who he was; we have no way of knowing who it was he was raving about except it was a woman who apparently was a cold bitch. That doesn't exactly narrow things down."

"So she, whoever she is, is out there running around with a lyrium idol powerful enough to drive a dwarf crazy. We have no way of knowing who she is, no way of knowing what she's doing with it, no way of knowing what it will do to her and there's really nothing we can do about it."

Varric nodded. "Pretty much."

"All right then. Just wanted to make sure it was all clear." Isabela shook her head. She tipped her bottle toward Hawke. "And here I thought you and Fenris were the story of the hour."

Varric winced as Hawke froze. She sent Isabela one smoking look and shoved away from the table, striding out the door before any of them could think to react. Isabela stared at the door, raising her eyebrows. "Touchy subject, eh?"

Anders shook his head and rose to go after Hawke.

"Try bringing it up with the elf and see how touchy it is, Ravaini." Varric was too bedamned tired to make a joke of it.

Isabela fell silent at that. Not even she was foolish enough to try that one.

It had settled something in Anders to be able to bring Bartrand out of his madness for a few seconds. His unique connection with the Fade had allowed him to slip under the mad haze induced by that damned idol and bring the real Bartrand to the surface, much as he'd been able to do with Karl. It hadn't settled Varric, especially, but it had given him a sense of closure and convinced him not to kill his brother. In Anders' estimation, that was worth anything.

But he couldn't help with this. Once again, Anders cursed that bedamned elf's very existence as he strode to catch up with Hawke. She wasn't falling down drunk but she was tipsy enough he was worried about her. He could see a dagger clear in her hand but wasn't sure that would be enough to deter the ignorant among Hightown's pickpockets.

She turned when she heard him behind her, her posture tense, though she relaxed when she recognized him.

"I'd say it's a bad idea to walk alone at night but I'm more worried about whoever crosses your path tonight," he said conversationally.

"Well, you're here to heal them now. Did Varric send you after me?"

"Varric isn't the only person who cares about you, Alessa." Anders' voice was mild but there was a slight tone of rebuke beneath it. "I'm not so far gone I can't worry about my friends."

"I didn't mean it that way." She sighed. "Sorry, I've been a little on edge lately."

"You're not on edge, you're heartbroken and everyone can see it. I suggested Aveline string him up by the balls in the Gallows and she actually looked like she was considering it."

"Leave him alone, Anders."

They walked in silence for a while, moving up the long steps that would take them from Lowtown to Hightown.

"Kirkwall in the dark isn't so different from Kirkwall in the light," Alessa finally said. "Secrets everywhere in the dark and the light. Too many secrets. Too many undercurrents. The qunari. Whatever moron is trying to incite war between them and us. The mages and the templars. Now Bartrand and wondering about that idol…and the fact those caverns were full to the brim of that red lyrium. How many people did he sell the location of that thaig to, Anders?"

"I've wondered over most of those too. Mages and templars more than the others, I will admit." He added, in a weak attempt at a joke: "And I can't match you for obsessive thinking."

She shrugged. "Some people drown their sorrows by drinking and writing poetry or drinking and sleeping around. I drink and stare into the fire and think of anything that'll take my mind off him."

"I wish that worked for me."

Hawke turned her head to look at him. "Are you in love with my sister, Anders?"

Leave it to Alessa to put it as bluntly as that, the sudden question drawing an absolutely honest answer from him before he could dodge around it: "Yes." He chuckled helplessly. "You know, love is only a game when you're in the Circle. It's too dangerous to love someone because it gives the Templars leverage over you. The only thing more effective than threatening someone's life is threatening them with the lives of someone they care about. Now? I'm free of the Circle and she isn't, and if it became knowledge how much I care about her, it would be dangerous for us both. Ah, Alessa, we're both fools in love, aren't we?" He saw her gaze turn as they moved toward the Hawke estate, gazing toward the road that led to Fenris' stolen mansion. She turned away, her eyes on the ground, nodding slowly in agreement.

Alessa invited him in for tea, which he was grateful for, as it would help stave off the inevitable hangover of the next morning. When it came to teas and poultices, Alessa had more knowledge and skill than him, one of the few things about healing she topped him in. And her hangover cures were top notch.

She sat across from him at the small table in the kitchen while the tea brewed, each lost in their own thoughts. Anders finally spoke up with some humor, "I'd like to point out that I _did_ try to warn you away from the worst mistake of your life."

"Oh, he wasn't the worst, believe me. At least he didn't try to seduce my sister."

Anders blinked at her. "I..what?"

"Bethany didn't tell you that story?"

"No! And now you have to!"

Alessa chuckled and fetched them both mugs, pouring tea. "Xander was my first lover. And the worst. He was a wanderer, passing himself off as a...Maker, I don't even remember anymore." She shrugged and sat back down. "Chantry Brother, healer, he's probably pretended to be ten thousand things in his travels. I was fifteen, just starting to chafe at the rules that governed us and nowhere near as smart as I thought I was. He was a handsome charmer, Maker's breath, was he ever a charmer." She sighed. "You'd think from all the traveling from place to place our family had done, I wouldn't have fallen for the whole 'daring adventurer' persona but I did. Hook, line and sinker."

"We all do stupid things when we're young, no matter how smart you are." He patted her arm, thinking of all the stupid things he'd done when he'd been younger and bound and determined to escape the Circle.

"I like to think I kept him genuinely interested for at least a few weeks, but then Bethany had caught his eye. Looking back, I'm wondering if he didn't know there was something off about Bethany and was trying to get information about her. Whatever his reasons, he put the moves on her while by back was turned."

Anders found his fingers were tightening on the mug in his hand.

Hawke smiled slightly. "I've always wondered what exactly he was thinking. I'm sure he thought she couldn't resist him or, even if she could, that she would be too afraid to mention it to me. And if she did, he expected me to take his side instead of hers. He was wrong on all counts. She tore him a new one and then marched straight to me and told me what he'd done. I'd already had my suspicions about him…charm only goes so far. I told him if he ever came near either of us again, I'd kick his balls into his backbone. He didn't like that. He threatened me right back…right in time for Carver to show up and overhear. Bethany told him right out what he'd tried to do and Carver, who never liked him, broke his face in a few places. He fled."

"With his tail between his legs, I hope." Anders was smiling at the thought of what kinds of things Bethany had probably said to him when he'd tried it.

"Pretty much. He tried to soothe his ego by spreading rumors about us…we'd been in Lothering for a few months by then and do you know, Anders…no one believed him. We were already coming to be a part of that community. Even if they listened to him, no one cared. My friend Glendon taunted him every chance he got and he finally gathered what dignity he had left and went off to bigger and better places."

"And good riddance." He clinked his mug with hers. He was smiling, which he suspected was the reason she'd told the story in the first place. Certainly it seemed to have lifted her spirits.

Alessa looked down into her mug, watching the black pool of tea within. "I think I just have a habit of feeling more for men than they feel for me."

She was not talking about Xander this time and they both knew it. Anders didn't think that was quite accurate. He didn't think Fenris even knew quite what he felt, if he even knew how to feel something strongly. The words rose in his throat but he bit them back, because it sounded like he was making excuses for Fenris and Fenris didn't deserve to be excused. Instead, he simply shook his head. "He's a fool, Alessa. He's let one bad experience color his entire viewpoint. I wish I could tell you I'm sorry about it, but I'll be brutally frank, Alessa…I never thought he was worthy of you. I still don't think so."

She didn't answer him but she didn't snap at him either, or try to defend Fenris, which he took as a good sign. He hoped she would weigh his words and keep them in mind when her heart had mended.

And he hoped Fenris would do them all a favor and stay away from her.

Hawke swirled her tea in her mug, looking preoccupied.  "I actually...well, I couldn't ask Fenris because he wouldn't have approved so I was going to ask you anyway...but then that mess with Bartrand happened and..."  She trailed off, looking pained. 

"You can ask me anything, Alessa."  He grinned at her suddenly, startling her into a smile in return.  "I can't promise I'll answer the way you want, but you can certainly ask."

"You remember Feynriel?"

"The dreamer?  Isn't he living with the Dalish?"

Alessa closed her eyes for a long moment.  "Anders, I need to ask you a favor."

* * *

Fenris was actually doing his best to stay away from her, and it was taking everything he had to do it.

He spent more and more time away from Kirkwall, taking mercenary jobs or doing favors for Aveline…through Donnic, of course, as Aveline had a steely glint in her eyes lately whenever she looked at him. He had even considered moving on from the city altogether briefly before he'd flinched away from it. He tried to explain it away as worry about leaving her and Theta when the situation with the qunari got worse every day. He wouldn't be able to focus on anything because he would be too concerned about them. And Varric. And Aveline. Donnic. And even Isabela. Hawke wasn't the only one to have wound her way into his soul.

All true, but at night, in dreams, with the dark around him, even with a haze of alcohol blurring his senses, he knew the real reason. The thought of being near Hawke right now was torture, but the thought of never seeing her again was a swift, sharp ache that was worse. There was no defense against the dreams, no way to stop himself from remembering the taste of her, the warmth of her skin, the way she settled against him like the Maker himself had crafted her to fit into his arms alone. She'd imprinted herself into his mind and body like a brand. Even catching a glimpse of her or hearing her voice was enough to arouse his body and send his mind into a whirl of conflicting emotions.

There was no stopping that; he could only hope the memories would fade enough before he went mad.

No stopping it, but he could stop himself from acting on it. The only way it seemed to save his sanity was to hole up in the mansion or go out into the wilds. Slavers, robbers, escaped convicts, and even a blood mage had helped him work his frustrations out at the end of his blade.

So it was that Fenris was just outside Kirkwall when Merrill left the city in the early morning and headed for Sundermount. He didn't see her leave, but he did catch a glimpse of Hawke and Anders when they left much later in the day, heading in the same direction, Moose bounding ahead of them.

The sight of them together made him clench his teeth, his hands curling into fists. He didn't know why she was headed to Sundermount or why she was trusting the abomination at her back. He'd lost the right to say anything about where she went or with who (if he'd ever had it) but he still had to restrain himself from following. He wavered for a long while, waiting until it was too late to catch up to them. Only then could he force himself to turn away and head back to Kirkwall.

But he did it. It was a step. He just wished he could convince himself that it was in the right direction.


	33. Guardian of the Past

_All wish to possess knowledge but few, comparatively speaking, are willing to pay the price._

**-Juvenal**

* * *

When Merrill found the third body, fear finally made her admit what common sense hadn't: this was absolutely insane.

She found the final hunter after a hard battle with a bunch of cave spiders that had left her shaking, exhausted, and realizing how much she'd come to depend on her friends in battle.

How in the creators was she supposed to do this all by herself?

Merrill clutched her staff close and looked around the caves, trying to bite back panic, trying to call on the same strength within her that had allowed her to walk away from her people and settle into an entirely new city outside of everything she'd known. She straightened, swallowing hard.

She had to do this.

She _had_ to. Everything else she had tried to make her eluvian work had failed. She'd tried everything she knew both with the magic she'd been taught as a child. She'd tried everything with the blood magic Audacity, the demon she and the Keeper had found on the mountain, had taught her, but nothing worked. It sat in her house in the Alienage, distorting her reflection every time she looked in it, like it was mocking her.

Sitting there, staring into it and considering her options, Merrill had felt a flash of inspiration: the Arulin'Holm.

The ancient tool was the pride of her clan. It predated the Dales, tracing back to the days when the elves had had an empire that spanned the entire length of Thedas. At the moment, it was used by the woodcarver of her clan, who used it to create the fantastic designs the Dalish were so well known for. If there was anything that could help her repair the mirror, that tool was it.

The Keeper didn't want to give it to her. Her disapproval of Merrill's efforts to restore the eluvian had been the reason Merrill had gone to Kirkwall in the first place. The anger and fear of the clan Merrill could have withstood, but the quiet sadness and worry from the woman who had raised and taught her had stabbed her over and over. They couldn't talk about it, because Marethari wouldn't budge on her stance that Merrill was on a bad path. They just kept talking in circles.

Since the Arulin'Holm belonged to the clan as an heirloom, Merrill knew of a way she could lay claim to it: _vir sulevanan_. When invoked, one of the clan members could perform a task in exchange for something, be it property or a request. If she completed the task, Marethari would have to give her the Arulin'Holm or be forfeit, and her honor wouldn't allow her to do that.

She should have known the Keeper would give her something impossible, probably hoping she would fail and thwart her efforts to restore the mirror. The task wasn't something difficult but simple like finding scarce ingredients for the Keeper's spells or helping with the magical defenses, or take care of pesky spiders. Oh, no, the Keeper wanted her to slay a _varterral_.

She grudgingly admitted such a task was worthy of the Arulin'Holm, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it. And the creature _had_ killed three hunters. She'd already found two of their bodies, first Radha and then Harshal, and had stopped to say a prayer and gather some kind of memento from each.

Chandan, when she came across his body, was in worse shape than the other two. The varterral, at least according to legend, was a creature of earth and tree, wind and rain, created as guardians by their ancestors. As far as she knew, they didn't eat, and yet Chandan had been torn apart. She couldn't tell if the varterral had done it with its teeth or its claws; she'd barely been able to force herself to kneel down and pray for him and take the amulet from his torn neck, much less give a thorough inspection of the body.

Hawke could probably have told her, if Merrill had asked. If she'd asked her to come at all.

Merrill forced herself to continue on through the tunnels, but she couldn't help but wish Hawke was there. At the very least, Merrill would have been certain she was going in the right direction if she'd had Hawke with her.

But Merrill knew why she hadn't asked Hawke to come with her. For all her kindness, for all the ways Hawke helped her, and for all the fascination Hawke had shown about the ancient empire and the eluvians in general, she continued to be wary of the one Merrill had. There were times Merrill got the impression that Hawke was _afraid_ of it, which was silly, because Hawke wasn't afraid of anything. But even more than that, Hawke had told her she was worried about her focus on the mirror. She even said she was worried Merrill was becoming _obsessed_ with it. No matter how often Merrill tried to explain what she could learn if she could just fix the eluvian, she couldn't make her understand. She had even suggested talking to her friend Sil the dwarf about exploring some of the elven ruins she'd found instead, which was the most ignorant thing Merrill had ever heard her say. Did she think they hadn't tried gleaning every possible bit of information from the ruins of their cities?

She'd settled on this course and she would follow it through. She would get the dagger, fix the mirror, and see what it had to show her. Maybe even find other eluvians.

That thought had her gathering her courage and pressing on, trying to remember all the things Hawke, Varric, and Aveline had told her about strategy. That, she thought, was the only way she was going to win over the varterral. Her mind, in fact, was so taken by thoughts of how she needed to keep moving and be aware of her environment that she didn't notice the figure moving ahead of her until he stepped out of a doorway. She brought her staff forward with a yelp and then let out a sigh of relief when she saw it was a young elf. "Pol." Of the hunters that had gone missing, she had been most worried about Pol. A young city elf who had fled to the Dalish, his wonder and eagerness to learn the ways of his people had quickly endeared him to the clan.

Pol clearly didn't feel the same sense of relief at the sight of her. His eyes widened and he took a step backward. "Merrill…"

Merrill frowned and reached out toward him. "Pol, are you hurt?"

"Stay away from me!" Pol stumbled in his haste to back away from her hand.

Confused and hurt, Merrill stopped trying to move toward him. The look in his eyes as he stared at her was a mixture of terror and disgust that stabbed through her. He was looking at her like she was a monster. "Pol.."

"Don't touch me!" He turned and ran away from her, crying for help. To her horror, Merrill realized he was aimed straight for the varterral's lair. Any thought of strategy vanished as she plunged after him, screaming out a warning.

Too late. Even as she rushed through the tunnels, she could feel the ground vibrating beneath her feet. Pol's scream from the cave ahead was drowned out by a screech that shook the walls. She plunged into the cavern and beheld the varterral in all its fearsome glory rearing up over Pol.

She knew all the tales surrounding the creatures, but she had only seen one once. Whatever the stories might say of their creation, she had never thought varterrals looked like creatures of the earth. They always seemed to Merrill to be some uncanny mixture of a spider and a lizard. It walked on four spindly legs that ended in deadly spikes. It had two almost comically short arms at the front of its low slung body. She didn't know what madman had come up with such a hastily put together creature but they had succeeded in creating a terrifying guardian.

Merrill whipped her staff in a circle in front of her, firing off bolts of ice that seemed to have little effect on the creature except to distract it from Pol, swinging its narrow head toward her and regarding her with its strange yellow eyes. It started to lurch toward her. Merrill couldn't tell if Pol was dead or alive and didn't have time to try and see. The creature reared back Merrill had half a second to notice a thick, viscous fluid arcing through the air toward her. She threw herself aside, ducking behind a boulder, barely making it out of the way in time. The ground sizzled where the venom touched it.

_Why don't they mention_ that _kind of thing in the old stories?_ Merrill thought. She dodged behind another boulder, tossing out another volley of magic at the creature and hissing when it spat more venom at her and caught her sleeve before she could pull back.

She stumbled, managing to turn it into a roll like Varric had taught her and felt a rush of air above her as the creature swiped at her with one of its legs. The varterral darted forward, jaws opening unnaturally wide as it swooped down on her. When a snarl filled the air, it took her a moment to realize that it didn't come from the varterral but from something behind her. Then a large brown blur rushed past her and slammed into the varterral's head. The creature let out another screech and jerked back, lifting itself up again, only now it had a huge hound attached to it. Moose dangled from the varterral's head, twisting this way and that, trying to tear at its flesh as his back legs scrabbled at the air and tried to find purchase. He finally slammed his back paws against the varterral's jaw and tore into it with all his might. The creature screeched again, several octaves higher than before, and clawed at the dog with its stubby arms.

Hawke's voice rang through the cavern, calling the dog back to her. Moose dropped immediately and darted away as the creature tried to stab at him with one of its legs. Moose...that wonderful, amazing beast…had managed to damage one of the varterral's eyes, if not put it out completely. It keened, pawing at its face as it backed off a bit. Merrill pushed herself to her feet as Hawke appeared at her side, throwing one of her bottles at the creature. It spun through the air and exploded when it hit one of the legs. The varterral screamed again.

Merrill felt the tingle of the Fade around her and turned as Anders came up on her other side, his flesh glowing with cracks as Justice manifested itself. He circled around one side of the varterral quickly and Merrill found herself moving to its other side without realizing she was doing it.

She had not been with them in the Deep Roads when they'd battled the rock wraith but she knew the dance that had brought it down, because she'd done it with them in several other occasions. Surrounded by people whose skills she knew almost as well as her own, she fell into the same rhythm as Hawke and Anders, listening for when Hawke called out to her with a suggestion.

That wasn't to say the battle was easy. They all had a nasty jolt when the thing struck Moose and sent the dog flying clear across the cavern, crashing into the wall. Hawke screamed in rage, a sound that chilled Merrill because she had never heard something like it from her. Hawke was usually so controlled, but her face was twisted into an ugly mask of fury as she charged the varterral. Anders called out to her in alarm and barely threw himself out of the way as the varterral snapped at him, lunging down, its legs splayed.

Hawke ducked beneath its body while it was still low to the ground and threw another bottle at its underbelly. Merrill couldn't see exactly what Hawke had done but the varterral's shrieks earlier were nothing compared to the one that it let out now, a spiraling wail of agony that made them all clench their teeth. It backed away from them now, letting out more howls of agony, rearing back and allowing Merrill to see that Hawke had thrown one of her nasty alchemical concoctions, some kind of acid, giving the monster a taste of its own venom. Merrill could see the stuff eating it away just below its arms.

The creature was in retreat now, its head swinging back and forth in confusion and fury, black blood pattering to the ground from its gouged eye. Merrill started forward and drew up short as she saw one of its great feet come down inches from Pol's still form, a massive wound in his chest from one of its spikes.

Merrill drew on the last of her stamina, bringing her staff up in a swinging arc and stabbing a hand at the creature, a simple blast of pure force aimed directly at the leg Hawke had damaged earlier.

The varterral went down.

The weakened leg cracked in two, the lower part tearing free from the rest in a resounding crack and the creature lost its balance completely, tumbling into a clumsy heap with another howl, clawing at the ground to try and right itself. Before it managed it, Hawke came charging, seemingly out of nowhere, and ran right up its shattered leg until she landed on its back, scrabbling up the back of its head where she clung to the crest that ran down the back of its neck. The varterral tried to turn and snap at her, but Hawke clung to it stubbornly. Anders stepped up at that moment and sent a bolt of magic into the underside of the creature's jaw, making its head snap back. Merrill saw the glitter of one of Hawke's long knives for a second before she plunged it into the creature's remaining eye, the whole of her arm disappearing into the depths of the socket.

The varterral let out one last cry, this one almost pathetic compared to the others. A shudder shook its great form as Hawke clung tighter and pushed her arm even further into its eye socket, driving the sharp part of her blade deeper into its flesh. The creature made a coughing sound and simply slumped down, finally, finally going still.

Hawke pulled her arm free with a wet pop, her arm gloved in red-black blood up to the shoulder. She slid off the creature and stumbled over to where Moose was limping toward them. He wasn't whimpering, even though he was clearly injured, his stubby tail wagging slightly as Hawke fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. Anders, looking tired and drawn, was already calling healing magic to his hands even as he walked toward them, kneeling down and running soothing hands over the dog.

Merrill walked slowly over to where Pol lay, staring down at him through eyes that were blurry with tears. She knelt beside him, hearing the others coming up behind her. Moose, looking much better, nudged her shoulder with his muzzle, sniffing at Pol before Hawke pulled him away gently, moving to stand beside her. "Who is he, Merrill? One of the hunters?"

"He was on his way to being one." Merrill's voice broke. She turned a pleading look up at Anders. "Anders, couldn't you…?"

Anders shook his head. "It's too late, there's nothing I can do."

Merrill nodded miserably and turned back down to the younger elf. "He ran from me," she whispered. "He was afraid of me."

"He was in this monster's lair and he was afraid of _you_?" Hawke said, her voice rising in shock.

"I don't…I don't know why. There's something wrong…I need to speak to the Keeper." Merrill's lips pressed in a thin line and she shoved herself to her feet, pausing to look a Hawke, another question hitting her. "What are you two doing here? Were you following me?"

"We needed to come up here anyway, but yes, Aveline told me she saw you hurrying out toward Sundermount looking like you were headed for trouble so we set out today instead of tomorrow like we planned. And it's a good thing too. You were actually going to try and take that thing on all by yourself? Merrill, what in the void were you thinking?"

The fact she was right didn't make Merrill feel any less irritated. "It was the only way! I need a tool the Keeper has in order to fix the mirror!"

Anders let out an exasperated groan, which only made Merrill angrier. Hawke wasn't as obvious about it but Merrill could almost feel her impatience. _Shemlen_. She despaired of ever making them understand. "My clan doesn't believe in me, if you don't believe in me, that's fine. I didn't ask you to come after me."

"We came for Feynriel." Hawke's voice was cold.

It took Merrill a moment to place the name. Of course, the half breed they'd rescued from slavers a year or so ago. The dreamer. He'd taken refuge with the clan. She turned to look at Hawke, alarmed. Hawke shrugged. "The Keeper asked us to go after you first because she was worried. She said Feynriel isn't critical yet but now that you've gotten your business done, I'd like to get to him."

Merrill felt a flush of shame at snapping at them. "I..I'm sorry Hawke. I thought I might be able to handle it and then I saw the hunters it killed and I got so angry…"

Hawke's expression softened. "I'm sorry about your friends. At least that thing is dead now."

At least until it resurrected, but Merrill didn't see any reason to mention that right now.

* * *

By the time they reached the camp, Merrill had explained exactly what the Arulin'Holm was and why she needed it. Before she could go to the Keeper and demand it, however, Marethari came hurrying up to them, her eyes on Hawke. Another elf ran up behind her, wringing her hands anxiously. Merrill recognized her as Arianni, Feynriel's mother.

"He won't wake up!" Arianni looked close to tears. "Why didn't you go to him immediately? This might not have happened if…"

"Arianni!" The Keeper's voice sliced the air and silenced her immediately. "Even if Hawke had been there, she wouldn't have been able to do anything. This cannot be healed through the outside world."

Arianni closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Please, Hawke, you must help him. Please."

"What do you need me to do?" Hawke was cleaning the blood off her arm as best she could, looking between the two women. Merrill felt a surge of impatience that the Keeper had another excuse to avoid giving her the Arulin'Holm and immediately felt ashamed of herself. She stepped up beside Hawke to show her she would help her any way she could.

"There is a ritual we use to enter the Fade," Marethari said quietly. "Feynriel is being plagued by demons, I'm quite sure of it. It will require someone he trusts to help bring him out."

"He thinks of you as a true friend, he told me," Arianni said.

"And you have a connection to him. He told me that when he reached out in dreams before that you answered," Marethari said. "It's probable he might have been trying to reach out to you this time but was being blocked."

"Oh, more trips to the Fade, lovely," Anders sighed. "I can't just let you wander off alone in there, though. Who knows what kind of trouble you'll get into."

"This isn't a task I ask lightly of you, Hawke." The Keeper ignored Anders. She looked tired, Merrill noticed with a glimmer of unease. It hadn't been obvious before, but she saw it clearly now. She'd always thought of the Keeper as the strongest, most immovable person she knew but for the first time, she looked old and tired. "You know by now that Feynriel is a powerful dreamer, but he's more than that. The Tevinters would have called him somniari. He is able not only to navigate the beyond, but control it." She paused a moment to let them absorb that. "Feynriel is the first in two ages to survive. Demons are drawn to them, but luckily most are too frail to survive possession. A dreamer abomination would be very close to unstoppable."

Arianni made a small, pained sound. The Keeper turned to her and laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently before returning her gaze to Hawke. "The elves of the Dales were experts in the arts of the somniari. They could help those with no power enter the Fade. I have done my best to recreate the ritual. Between your connection with him, the objects from his childhood that Arianni has given us, we will have the focus we need to draw him back through the Veil."

"I'll bring him back," Hawke said quietly. She turned and met Arianni's gaze, reaching out and taking her hand. "I _will_ bring him back."


	34. Dreamer

_My dear, there's a world of difference between what the Chantry knows about the Fade and what they_ think _they know._

**\- Malaina Surana**

* * *

Malaina Surana had been called many things over the course of her life. Hero, whore, bitch, abomination, half breed, blood mage, mad prophet, blessed seer.

She'd been called the vilest creature to ever walk the lands of Thedas and the greatest hero it had ever known. She'd been blessed and cursed in the same breath numerous times by numerous people.

One thing even her fiercest detractors could not call her, though, was a slacker. When she wanted to do something, she bloody well got it done. And became _extremely_ annoyed when circumstances dared to try and stop her.

Which was why she was plenty wound up right now.

Malaina was not a true _somniari_ like Feynriel. When she'd been alive, she had used a special lyrium potion and blood magic to explore the Fade. She understood, however, about having to learn to control something without being able to turn to someone for help. No matter what Circle or Chantry tried to say, she had been intimately familiar with blood magic. And she had not made a deal with a demon to get it. She'd been a child, living at the monastery where her mother had left her, when she'd discovered it. She'd found a dead bird in the forest and Alistair- dear Alistair –had helped her bury it. Until she'd cut her hand and felt that odd rush of power, a sharp edged heat that had stabbed through her veins.

She'd brought the bird back to life.

It was the first and only time she had ever raised the dead.

That had been her promise to Alistair, to the boy who had protected her almost from the moment she'd been deposited at that monastery. Her beloved older brother in every way except blood. She'd gone to the Circle because he'd been afraid of what might happen to her, had told her she needed to be careful. And he'd kept her secret. He'd never told the Templars or the Grey Wardens what he had seen that day and when they had joined forces again during the Blight, he still stood by her and trusted in her ability to control herself. And she had kept her promise to never raise the dead again. It hadn't been hard, all things considered.

Malaina had never understood why it was she had such a natural affinity for blood magic. She had been told her mother had become an abomination not long after she had turned herself in to the Chantry and there were fears she'd been pregnant while possessed, but no one had ever confirmed it. She'd only learned that having a knack for blood magic was not as uncommon as the Chantry wanted to believe. It wasn't even _rare_ ; it was just that so few were willing to admit it.

This ignorance had followed her into death: she had no idea how she'd passed into the Fade after her death. By all accounts there shouldn't have been enough of her left; her soul should have been obliterated alongside the Archdemon's. But there had been just enough of her left, just enough of a spark that was Malaina Surana, to allow her to form around. She had not intended to become the Grey Lady, walking through the Fade clothed in the blood of demons, but she had.

It meant several things that applied to demons and spirits did not apply to her, but it also meant there were parts of the Fade that she could not access.

And the demons knew it.

She'd tried hard to shield Feynriel. She'd done her best to protect him in and out of the Fade, had made sure it was known she'd tear apart any demon who came near him. But Feynriel was so young and so vulnerable; and despite the Keeper's efforts, he wasn't learning to control his abilities. There was no one, including herself, who could really help him do it. The more frustrated and lonely he became, the more cracks in his mind opened for demons to take advantage of. Eventually, there were too many for her to keep back and they had wormed their way into his mind. They had built a wall of his own psyche that kept her out, for she wasn't able to reach out to Feynriel if he didn't allow it. She was blocked, able to see in at certain places, but unable to act. The demons were tearing at him, playing on every vulnerability and longing in his heart. They had not succeeded in breaking him yet but eventually they would.

In her desperation, she'd reached out to the one person who had a connection with Feynriel on an earthly plain and thank the Maker Marethari had had the same idea.

She focused and let out a low sigh as Hawke entered, pacing around in that odd space between spaces that Feynriel had between here and the Fade. She wondered what they were seeing, probably a place that was familiar to Feynriel. To her, it was an ever shifting wall, sometimes visible, sometimes not. Sometimes stone, sometimes mist. It gave her hope, because if they had enough of a grip on Feynriel's mind, the walls would have been solid and probably grey stone. Demons in general didn't have much by way of imagination.

She was happy to see Hawke and her hound- he reminded her so much of her own Yueh, now serving her cousin –but less enthused when she recognized her companions. Anders, who had been a friend when they had been in the Circle, was a good man but she wasn't quite sure what to make of the fact his soul was fused with that spirit. She supposed it didn't matter at the moment, as the spirit of Justice wouldn't be tempted by a demon. The other though…Merrill…

Malaina didn't like the look of her. She'd seen enough of her while keeping an eye on Hawke to think she had good intentions, she honestly wanted to do the best for her people. But so had Loghain. And Merrill didn't have the same strength as that old soldier.

There were entire roads paved with bones throughout history because of someone's good intentions.

They faded from her view and she was forced to pace around again until she found a weak point she could peer in.

She wasn't worried when Torpor approached them. The sloth demon was the weakest of the lot and it came as no surprise to her when they wiped it out like the bug it was. No, she'd been waiting for that particular moment for a very different reason. When the sloth demon and its subordinates were slain, she saw it: a flicker, a ripple, passing through the physical/not physical wall in front of her. She laid a hand on it, was quite certain this time that it gave a bit. Her lips curled into a smile.

Malaina forced herself to be patient. She followed the group, darting from weak point to weak point. She was quite sure there were more of them now with every demon they destroyed.

She found Feynriel before Hawke did, pressing a hand to the wall and peering into a place that was suddenly quite clear. It was the Dalish camp and the boy was standing beside a demon that had disguised itself as the Keeper, proclaiming him to be the hope of their people, human touched or not. Pride demon, she guessed, struggling to look beyond its disguise and realizing she wouldn't be able to until Feynriel realized it was a disguise. It wouldn't have been a problem to see it for what it really was with anyone but Feynriel but the boy…with that will…that _skill_ …

If he could master it, what _couldn't_ he do?

The look on Feynriel's face was painful to see. Pride, that most insidious of the demons, always knew exactly what angle to go for. Feynriel would have been child's play for it. The boy had never been accepted, much less honored. He'd been rejected for his heritage and for his abilities both. He'd been rejected by his father and shunned by both human and elf alike.

That too, unfortunately, she understood.

The landscape trembled as Hawke entered. Malaina's eyes narrowed as the human woman's form shifted into a tall elven male Feynriel had told her about: Orsino, the First Enchanter of Kirkwall's Circle. Wasn't that interesting? Was she taking on that form because it was someone Feynriel admired and wanted the approval of, or was she taking on that form as an opposite of the demon's?

Whatever the form, it was Hawke's mind beneath it. She used logic, not emotion, pointing out the flaws gently to Feynriel, letting him draw his own conclusions until he realized what he was seeing wasn't real. Malaina watched as he took a step back and then swept through the air, disappearing from sight. She'd seen him do that in the Fade before and took it as a sign he was getting stronger.

She turned away, trusting Hawke to take care of the demon. So Malaina wasn't there to see her thoughts on Merrill proven correct.

* * *

Justice had tried to warn her, but it was still a shock when Merrill turned.

The pride demon was understandably upset when Feynriel had broken free of its hold. It towered above them, snarling, a huge humanoid figure covered in spikes, one arm far bigger than the other. She'd dismissed its claims about everyone wanting power, including Feynriel.

And including Merrill.

Dismissing its words had been arrogant and foolish of her. She'd forgotten that with a demon, it was never just a matter of words. And Pride was the most insidious of demons.

It had also been foolish of her not to remember how personal Merrill took her quest. It wasn't just a matter of restoring the mirror; Merrill wanted to be able to show it off, to show those who had doubted her how wrong they were. To be a savior of elvenkind.

What truly frightened Hawke was how easily she fell for it, hook, line and sinker. The demon barely had to persuade her before she turned on them, her eyes dazzled by the promises of power and glory for her people…and herself. It was Justice- for he was the dominant one in this realm –who stopped her. Hawke had not really believed, even as Merrill was moving to strike, that she would do it. Justice did. He attacked, driving Merrill back away from Hawke. Moose snarled and the sound jolted Hawke out of her shock. She whirled as the demon charged, howling.

The only good thing to be said about it was the Pride demon, perhaps living up to its name, didn't call any other demons to fight with it. In fact, to her great pleasure, Moose was easily able to duck past its huge arm and hamstring it, closing his powerful jaws around its ankle, which evened the odds quite nicely. She hoped with all her heart that the fact it had been so easily defeated tormented it right down to its last thought.

She turned to find Justice standing over Merrill's still form, a look of disgust on its face…Anders' face. Merrill's body dissolved from sight. Hawke knew she wasn't dead in the real world and despite everything, she hoped she wasn't too badly damaged.

Justice perhaps picked up on her thoughts, turning those cold, glowing eyes toward her. The fact he still looked like Anders even in the Fade made it even more disturbing. "The Keeper's magic is strong. She will awaken outside the Fade alive and unharmed. That is," he added grimly, "perhaps unfortunate for everyone. She is weak. She will bring nothing but tragedy on you all."

Hawke turned away from him without replying. There was nothing she could do about Merrill for the moment, so she put it aside. Feynriel was who she needed to focus on.

The area around them had shifted back to the stone halls they had appeared as on the way in. This time, however, she was certain the walls were shifting a bit when she stared at them for too long. She wasn't certain if that was a good thing or a bad one.

Justice turned his head as he fell into step beside her. "Someone is watching us."

"Every demon in the place is probably looking for us at this point."

"Not a demon. It's familiar to Anders."

The spirit sounded confused, which made Hawke glance around nervously. She couldn't see or sense anything and Moose wasn't growling or even particularly concerned with the surroundings. She kept her eyes and ears open anyway as she continued on. Now that she'd found Feynriel once, it was easier for her to get a bead on him. Possibly because of the Keeper's magic, but the more time she spent here, the more she thought that wasn't the case. It was Feynriel himself that made it possible, reaching for her even if it was on a subconscious level. Like he had when they'd first met.

Hawke was less disconcerted this time when she stepped beyond a doorway and found her body wasn't her own anymore. She'd taken on Arianni's likeness this time. When she focused, she could feel Justice and Moose just beside her, even though she couldn't see them.

Feynriel was seated at a desk at the other end of the room, or rather, a much younger version of him was. A human man she didn't recognize was bent over him, speaking with a heavy Antivan accent. "That's it, Feynriel. Hard on the downstroke, then lift. Good!" His voice and smile were warm as he straightened up. "I'll have you scribing all my letters soon. If I'd known you were such a bright lad, I would have brought you into the business long ago."

"Does that mean I can come with you to Antiva, Father?" The eager hope in Feynriel's voice was painful to hear. "Mother said maybe this summer…right, Mother?" He looked at her, eyes bright.

_Oh, Feynriel._ This had to be a desire demon. The fact they were using his past to try and weaken him seemed abominable even for a demon. Using that simple need for acceptance, for love, to try and control him. It was obscene and it made fury rise up in her. She tamped down on it; it was not what Feynriel needed right now. Instead, she drew on what Arianni and Feynriel himself had told her and braced herself against that innocent hope in the young Feynriel's eyes. "Your father never wanted anything to do with you. Don't trust him."

Feynriel flinched, hurt and confusion crossing his young face. He looked at the demon masquerading as his father. "Why are you lying to me?"

He was picking up on things much faster than he had with the pride demon, she noted with pleasure.

Feynriel's father sent her one hot, angry glance, and for a moment, the demon behind the mask was clear in his eyes. Then it was smoothed over and the demon turned its charm on Feynriel again. "Don't listen, son. She's always been ashamed of you. She wanted you gone so she could go back to the Dalish. I'm the one who loves you."

The demon had overstepped itself. The desire to have his father's love warred with the fact Feynriel _knew_ that was a lie. He knew his mother wouldn't have traded him for anything. "But…why can't I remember you?"

Careful…she had to be careful. Tell him just enough to let him draw his own conclusions. "This is a trick, Feynriel. He wants something from you."

"Why…?" Feynriel's brow furrowed suddenly. "That's right! I spent my whole childhood waiting for you!" His voice was suddenly not so young, a ringing undertone of his real voice traveling beneath the words.

The demon was having a hard time controlling its anger now, lashing out desperately. "Your mother never allowed—"

" _My mother loves me!_ " Feynriel's voice was harsh. The hurt was still there, but the anger was stronger. "She showed me the letters she wrote you! You _never_ wrote back!" The boy rose to his feet. "And it was Mother who taught me to write, not you! I've never met you before! _Who are you?_ "

This time there was no doubt about it. The walls around them faded in and out and a rumble shook the world around them. The demon looked around and Hawke swore she saw fear cross its eyes.

The desire demon tried to put authority in its voice: "Don't…question…me…" It wasn't like the pride demon. This time Feynriel somehow _pushed_ out at it. Hawke saw it happen, the air rippling around them and causing the form of his father to flare with light, twisting and warping before their very eyes until the desire demon stood in her true form for all to see. Ethereally beautiful, her tall, lush body draped in gold and silk, fire dancing around her horns. Every move she made was a promise of pleasures beyond imagination. Feynriel froze, then turned and fled, vanishing through the wall.

The demon spun to face them, her perfect lips pulling back to expose pointed teeth. "You! You turned him against me!"

Hawke merely pulled her daggers and dropped into a defensive crouch.

The demon smoothed her expression and smiled, ignoring Justice, now visible and circling her, to focus on Hawke. The only one left who could be tempted. "But it doesn't have to be a total loss." Hawke felt the full force of the demon's power sweep over her. "What do you say, sweetheart?"

Hawke was expecting Fenris, had braced herself against the possibility a demon would use him against her. She'd prepared herself, or convinced herself she had. She'd conjured up the memories of his final words to her when she'd gone to see him that last time. She'd laid her pride down, laid everything down in hopes that he would talk to her long enough for her to understand what she'd done wrong. If she only understood _why_ , she was certain she could step back. But he couldn't even give her that. No closure, no understanding, nothing. She'd drawn those memories up and hoped it would balance out the ache in her that seemed to reach through every fiber of her being and the fact she woke in the middle of the night panting and saturated with longing, his name on her lips. It would help her continue to avoid dramatic words like 'heartbroken'.

She could use those memories when she told herself over and over and over that she didn't love him. And maybe one day, she could actually believe it.

But as the demon's form shimmered and changed, she found herself looking into a pair of steady brown eyes set in a craggy, strong featured face that was a harder, male version of her own. Her hands dropped to her sides, her daggers held loose.

_Father._

"Alessa." His voice, quiet and deep, washed over her and she wasn't at all prepared for it, how devastating it would be hear it again. "I've come back for you. I know you need me."

Oh, Maker, yes, she did. More and more lately, she felt adrift and uncertain. She'd lost her sister. She'd lost Fenris. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be and the more she tried, the more she seemed to make things worse.

Justice took a firm hold on her arm. "Do not listen to it, Alessa Hawke. That is not your father."

Alessa shook off her shock and took a step back, dropping her gaze to give herself a moment to think. Moose moved in front of her, ears flat against his head, growling at the demon.

Justice was right, of course. Her father had been dead for years. She had been missing him more than ever the last few weeks and the demon had sensed that. Used it. It had to have been child's play for it to reach in and see how deeply she wished her father was still with them. How desperately she needed his advice and his love and his acceptance. Not that much different from Feynriel, really.

"Alessa…" He took another step toward her, reaching out for her.

She laid her hand on Moose's head and took a deep breath to steady herself, fixing her gaze on the demon. "You're not my father." She was proud she managed to keep her voice calm. It had gotten some details wrong, she noted coolly. Quite a few, actually. He was too tall, for one. And her father had moved with far more purpose than grace, certainly his movements had never been that languid looking. She didn't think Papa had even known _how_ to be languid. Most of all, that look of cold, smug hunger had never been in her father's eyes. She gritted her teeth and his form shimmered. "You…you aren't even a _shadow_ of my father."

"Well done, Alessa Hawke," Justice rumbled.

Her father's face twisted into an ugly mask of hatred before the demon reverted to her true form. Hawke gripped her daggers again and lunged for it openly while Justice moved to flank it. The she-demon glanced around and Hawke saw surprise on her lovely face. She didn't take the time to wonder what she was so shocked about, striking out at her, absorbing her cries of pain and letting them drive her.

Between the three of them, she fell in only half the time it had taken to kill the pride demon. Hawke backed away and let the body fade, resisting the urge to kick it as it went.

Justice was standing tall, his head lifted, almost seeming to sniff the air. "She tried to call lesser demons and shades to her, but they didn't come," he informed Hawke.

That explained the look of surprise.

"It's that presence again and I have a name for it now."

"You said it wasn't a demon?"

"Not a demon, no. You and Anders knew it as Malaina Surana."

* * *

His surroundings might not have been familiar, but following a trail of dead and fading demons was a familiar and welcome sight. "Malaina?"

"Here."

He turned around and there she was in all her terrifying glory, her dress soaked in blood nearly to the waist, her arms gloved in it to the elbow, surrounded by dead demons on all sides. She smiled at him. "They were using you to keep me out. When you were able to shake off the demons, I was able to pass through, finally. And now they're dead." She gestured to the minor demons around her. "I figured I could at least help a little."

"I thought I saw Hawke here…"

"She is. Your mother and the Keeper brought her in to help you. Or help you help yourself, is more accurate. You remarkable child." There was pride in her dark eyes as he came up to her.

"I'm not remarkable. I let the demons in."

"They overwhelmed you, Feynriel. You didn't let them in, or you'd be possessed by now. You did well."

With the last of the demons gone, he could look around freely for the first time. "The Fade feels different, Malaina. I can see the stitches and seams holding it together."

"You are _somniari_. A true Dreamer. You can touch the fabric of the Fade itself. You've always shone brightly through the Fade, now I understand why."

"I can control it. And the dreams of people in it." He sobered. "I can see why the Chantry fears us. I've heard tales of magisters in Tevinter who could stalk their enemies and use their dreams to destroy them."

"You have to learn to control it, Feynriel." Hawke's voice came from behind them and they both turned to face her. She looked tired, her face pale and drawn.

Feynriel moved to her, taking her hands in his own. "This is the second time I owe you my life, Hawke."

She looked up at him. "The Keeper said you had to be kept from becoming an abomination at all costs, even if it meant taking your life or making you Tranquil. I knew it wouldn't come to that, though."

"And it won't. I will master this. I will use it to help people, not harm them. I swear to you, Hawke." Feynriel could hear the strength in his own voice, echoing the new feel of it, a confidence in these abilities he'd never had before. "But the Dalish don't have what I need."

Hawke hesitated, then said with an odd note of reluctance: "It's dangerous, but the only records I found about Dreamers outside of the ancients of the Dales were from Tevinter."

"I remember." Feynriel stepped back. "I thought about going there a few times before. Now it seems I'll have to. For their knowledge, if nothing else."

"Tevinter is a dangerous place, Feynriel. Especially for elves and elf blooded people."

"Malaina will be with me." He turned and looked at her anxiously. "Won't you?"

"Every step of the way," Malaina promised.

"And you, Alessa?" He turned back to her. "Can I still write to you?"

"Of course you can."

Something in him seemed to ease and he smiled over at Malaina. "Perhaps soon, I can speak to you in dreams."


	35. The Missing

_I cannot help fearing that men may reach a point where they look on every new theory as a danger, every innovation as a toilsome trouble, every social advance as a first step toward revolution, and that they may absolutely refuse to move at all._

**-Alexis de Tocqueville**

* * *

Hawke was back.

Aveline hurried up the walk to the Hawke estate, relief and irritation churning through her. Bodhan gave her a respectful bow when he opened the door. "Guard Captain." Something in his expression had her guard up. "Lady Hawke is in the parlor with Serrah Merrill at the moment."

As he stepped aside to let her in, she heard raised voices from upstairs. She looked at Bodhan questioningly. The dwarf's face was carefully composed but there was a disapproving look in his eyes. "She was talking to Messier Dumar when Serrah Merrill...well, she burst into the house before I could stop her, honestly."

Aveline's eyes widened. "The Viscount is here?"

"Oh, no, no, Guard Captain. Messier Saemus Dumar."

"So he already knows," Aveline murmured.

"Guard Captain?"

"Nothing. Well, I'm afraid I'll have to interrupt Merrill. I know the way." She strode toward the stairs.

"Right. I'll...um...get another pot of tea." Bodhan hurried off toward the kitchens and hoped the fireworks were over by the time he got back.

Aveline paused just outside the parlor door, frowning a bit. She could definitely hear Merrill's voice, sounding almost hysterical. She could make out something about a...knife? Shaking her head, Aveline pulled the door open without knocking, scowling as she took the scene in. Hawke was seated in a wingback chair with Merrill glaring down at her, fists clenched. Saemus Dumar was standing off to the side, looking embarrassed. His expression sharpened when he recognized her.

Yes, he knew.

"I'm in perfect control, Hawke. I told you I'd be more careful from now on!" Merrill must have been very upset indeed if she was talking about such things, heedless of Saemus' presence.

"You didn't tell me one of your people was tainted by that mirror." Hawke's voice was low and tight, her eyes narrowed into slits. "And after what happened on Sundermount, it makes me wonder what other things you've been hiding about that thing."

"The Keeper was overreacting. We don't know what actually happened to Tamlen! Spreading word that I was putting the clan at risk of the Taint is what got Pol killed!" There was an ugly undertone in Merrill's voice Aveline didn't like at all. With her behavior, sometimes it was easy to forget she practiced blood magic. "It's an heirloom of my clan, Hawke. My people!"

"And yet the Keeper gave it to me rather than let you have it."

Merrill actually jerked back like Hawke had slapped her, a stricken expression on her face.

Aveline decided this was as good a place as any to interrupt. "Ladies."

Hawke looked over at her and Merrill whirled around to face her. She gave them both her best glare. "Sorry to interrupt, but can you put this bickering off for another time?"

"There's nothing else to say." Merrill glared over at Hawke and stalked out.

Hawke sighed, rubbing her temples. She turned toward Saemus. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"She seems...very upset." Saemus said carefully.

"To say the least." Hawke motioned for Aveline to have a seat and gave Bodhan a grateful smile when he brought a tray of tea and small sandwiches, setting it on a table in the middle of the room.

"Your mother sent a note saying she'll be late home tonight, my lady."

"Thank you, Bodhan."

The dwarf bowed and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Saemus settled on a loveseat as Aveline took another of the chairs. He waited until Hawke had served tea and a plate of sandwiches for each of them- she didn't do it with the same grace as her mother could, but Aveline noted with amusement that she was apparently learning some things from Leandra -before speaking up. "I suspect, Guard Captain, that you're here for the same reason I am."

"The Qunari delegation?"

"Yes."

Hawke looked between them. "What Qunari delegation?"

Saemus leaned back, taking a sip of tea, more out of politeness than anything. "A while back, I suggested to the Arishok that maybe if we taught people a bit more about his people, it might help ease the tensions. He recently sent a delegation to the Keep for that purpose. At the Seneschal's insistence, they bound their weapons. Even he knew better than to try and make them leave them behind, so it was a compromise."

"That sounds promising."

"It should have been, but they disappeared."

Hawke went very still, setting her cup down slowly. "When?"

"They were supposed to be at the Keep at midday today, but they never came."

"Damn."

"It gets worse," Aveline said grimly. "The Seneschal came to my office to tell me about it. With great reluctance, I might add."

Saemus shook his head and sighed.

"Donnic investigated and tracked down a guardsman in the Hanged Man who was spending a great deal of money and bragging about all he had to do was turn a blind eye to get it. Also, that he had friends and they were going to show the city what to do with 'heathen oxmen'."

Both Hawke and Saemus, who clearly hadn't heard about this yet, were staring at her now. Hawke's face was pale.

Aveline nodded. "Donnic brought him to me and he said a Templar bought him off. A Templar with the Grand Cleric's seal."

Saemus gasped. "That's not...she couldn't possibly have anything to do with this!"

"No, but obviously someone in the Chantry does."

Saemus' expression went from shocked to grim. "Petrice. It has to be."

"You know her, Saemus?"

"Everyone knows her. I've been keeping an eye on her since you told me about that incident with the _saarebas_. At first, she wasn't so blatant about her hatred for the qunari but lately she's been preaching against them so vehemently it actually makes people uncomfortable. But a lot of them are still listening."

"As much as I hate to, I have to agree. I went to the Chantry to try and talk to the Grand Cleric and Petrice was the one who came down. She blocked every attempt I made to request an audience with the Grand Cleric, saying she was too busy and didn't speak to just anyone." Aveline scowled.

Saemus leaned forward and his blue eyes had a steely gleam in them that had not been there a year ago. "I, Guard Captain, am not just anyone."

* * *

Once, during one of his endlessly annoying attempts to at conversation- which invariably led to some comparison between slaves and mages -Anders had asked Fenris if he'd ever been tempted to kill himself. He'd told the mage such a thing was a sin in the eyes of the Maker. And he'd meant it. He'd never had much faith in someone who seemed to have abandoned not just him, but all the elves, but the idea that there was something beyond this life, a place where there was peace and no pain, walking beside the Maker for all time, was an appealing one. Most slaves weren't allowed to attend Chantry services, but that didn't mean they didn't worship the Maker as much as possible.

With the climate in the city and so many elves joining the Qunari, people might have given him trouble here as well but Sebastian Vael had made a point of welcoming him the last time he'd come in. He didn't know if the Chantry brother had said something to the Grand Cleric but the most he got lately was sidelong glances. No one bothered him, which suited him just fine.

He hadn't expected to like Sebastian. The prince had eased his way into their midst gradually ever since Hawke had agreed to help him track down whoever it was that had killed his family. Sometimes he joined them on jobs and he'd even started coming to the Hanged Man once in a while.

At first, Fenris had found his offers for confession and urgings to welcome the Maker into his heart very irritating. He couldn't figure out if Sebastian's unshakable faith that everything was part of the Maker's plan was naïveté or blind faith. Or a mixture of both. But there was something about his determination to avenge his family, fighting with the earnestness of his faith that had grown on the elf. He was also more than willing to give Fenris quiet and peace when he came here, often sitting with him in companionable silence at the back of the chantry's worship hall, which Fenris appreciated greatly.

There was little peace to be found today, however. Sebastian glanced behind him and sighed. "The Guard Captain is back, I hope she doesn't raise a fuss." He started to say more and checked himself, his brow furrowing as he twisted on the pew to look at the entrance of the chantry.

Curious, Fenris followed his gaze and blinked. It was Aveline, but this time she wasn't alone. The Viscount's son was with her and coming up behind both of them was Hawke.

Sebastian gazed at him sidelong. "I still say it would do more good for you to talk to her than just stare at her, Fenris."

"I'm not staring." Fenris denied it even as he tore his gaze away from her. He'd been accused of staring at Hawke for years now and not just by Sebastian. It wasn't true at all. Everything else might fade into the background whenever she was near but that didn't mean he stared at her. Because he _didn't_. He made himself settle back into the pew, though he kept his head turned to take in what was going on. "There's nothing to be said."

That, unfortunately, gave him a full view of Mother Petrice when she came down the center aisle. His eyes narrowed automatically. There had been several times in the years since she'd tried to kill Hawke that Fenris had thought of killing that woman. He knew a troublemaker when he saw one and that one had all the arrogance and lust for power that a magister had without half the brains to back it up. She was an utter fool with power, and that made her one of the most dangerous people in the city. What had spared her was the fact killing her would bring much unwanted attention added to the fact she had not tried to harm Hawke again, although he was certain she wanted to.

Sebastian rose and moved so he could listen in. Fenris resisted for about two seconds before giving in to his curiosity and following, making sure he was hidden behind a pillar.

"It's funny how you and issues with the qunari go together," Saemus Dumar was saying. He was outright glaring at Petrice. Hawke had moved to stand at his right. Her expression was much more neutral, but her eyes were fixed unerringly on Petrice's face.

"And you always assume their side," Petrice was obviously struggling to hide her dislike and failing utterly. Her lips were curled into a faint sneer as she looked from Saemus to Hawke. "If this is about the guard captain's claims, I assure you the templars would never embarrass the Chantry, at risk of the knight commander's wrath."

"Does Her Grace know about the missing qunari delegate?" Saemus took a step toward her. "Does she know a templar is suspected of kidnapping them? I know you do, but does she?"

Sebastian drew in a sharp breath and Fenris felt a ball of cold form in the pit of his stomach. He had always been aware there were few in Kirkwall who truly understood what would happen if the qunari decided to attack but this brought it into sharp focus. She truly had no idea what she was trying to bring down on all of their heads.

Or maybe she did and considered that an acceptable sacrifice.

Petrice had crossed her arms over her chest. "The grand cleric trusts her stewards to enact the will of the Maker."

"If the Maker is truly speaking through _you_ , Mother Petrice, then maybe he's not worth following."

Saemus' words were quietly spoken, but they rang through the air like the tolling of a bell. Petrice was gaping at him and Sebastian was staring, wide eyed. The Viscount's son lifted his chin defiantly. "I've already spoken to the Arishok. He knows his men are missing. When I told him I would ask Serrah Hawke to help investigate, he was willing to step back. For now. I wanted to pass the information on to Her Grace, no doubt she will be happy to know."

Petrice's eyes were glittering with fury. If she could have gotten away with killing Saemus in that moment, it was clear she would have. She spoke through gritted teeth. "Very well. If you won't abandon this, let me offer you something. The templar you seek is a radical."

"Aren't they all?" Hawke spoke for the first time, her voice filled with bitter amusement.

Petrice glared at her but continued on doggedly. "My former bodyguard, Ser Varnell. He has grown…unreliable. Confronting him may do us all a favor." She calmed down considerably, even showing a hint of a smile. "I happen to know a place he uses as a hiding spot. Come with me now, and you can see the unrest these Qunari have inspired."

Saemus started to say something and Hawke laid a hand on his arm, murmuring something low enough only he could hear. The boy turned his head to look at her for a long moment before nodding curtly. "Very well."

Fenris had been listening with increasing concern and it bloomed into outright alarm as both Aveline and Hawke went with the boy. What in the void were they doing? Saemus was a well intentioned young fool who could be excused for not seeing this danger for what it was, but Aveline and Hawke _had_ to know this was a trap.

He followed them, forgetting about his resolve to stay away from her, too irritated with her to worry about getting close. The idiot woman was not only getting involved with the qunari…again…but involving herself with Chantry politics as well.

Either Hawke truly didn't know she was putting herself in danger that could easily get her killed or she knew but didn't care. He wasn't sure which idea disturbed him more.

* * *

Actually, Fenris was not giving Saemus enough credit. He'd known Petrice had something planned; he just hadn't realized how crazy Ser Varnell was. Nor had he predicted how many people were willing to be whipped into a frenzy of violence against the qunari. When Mother Petrice had incited a fight between them, Ser Varnell had been the only templar there. The rest were just citizens. Just people.

The Viscount's son knelt beside the torn bodies of the qunari delegation, a position that put him between them and a couple of Ser Varnell's fanatics. One was a girl who was younger than he, her face frozen in an expression of shock. When they'd first come in, she'd been throwing rocks with brutal force at one of the tied up qunari, her face frozen in a snarl, her eyes mad and blank.

She'd had that same expression on her face when Ser Varnell had ordered them to attack and she'd lunged at him. It had only cleared into shock when Hawke had run her through.

Saemus turned stunned, grief stricken eyes toward the qunari. Their throats were slit and their bodies showed clearly that they had suffered before they died. All of their swords were still tied down.

Was _this_ the will of the Maker?

A hand touched his shoulder lightly and he looked up, his eyes locking with Hawke's. "They were chanting prayers to the Maker while they did this," he finally managed. Sorrow and fury were warring within him, making him feel slightly sick. He wanted to lash out at something, anything to let loose this horrible feeling of helplessness. "They would have killed us and felt righteous about it. And _her_ …" His rage found a target, that smug, triumphant smile that he'd seen on Petrice's face as she turned and ran after encouraging a fight between them and Varnell filled his mind. " _She_ doesn't feel a hint of guilt. _She_ doesn't know or care about any of these people. You feel more sorrow for them, Hawke, and you killed some of them!"

He saw her flinch and closed his eyes, reaching up and grasping her hand. "I'm sorry, Alessa."

"It's all right." Her voice was quiet.

"I know you didn't want to kill them. I know you spared them if you could. I just…"

"I know, Saemus." She squeezed his shoulder. "This isn't a day to flinch away from the truth."

"I believe the Grand Cleric didn't have anything to do with this, but she promoted that woman in rank. How can she look into her eyes and not see this…this _evil_ in her?"

Hawke just shook her head.

The Guard Captain came up on his other side. "Your father is coming, Serrah Dumar."

"Good." Saemus barely recognized his own voice. So flat and lifeless, it made him sound twenty years older. "Let him see what will become of all of us if we just sit back and let it happen." In truth, he knew for a fact the Arishok had nothing but contempt for his father and there was little the Viscount could do that would change his opinion.

Saemus pushed himself to his feet and drew in a deep breath, pushing back his anger and disgust. Neither would do any good with his father and he needed all the strength he possessed to get through the inevitable lecture about shaming his station and making things worse.

And they were so much worse. A qunari delegation sent in good faith had been tortured and killed which was going to push the Arishok right to the edge. And possibly over it. To add to it, a Chantry mother was involved and she'd used the Grand Cleric's authority to do it. Even questioning the Grand Cleric was going to stir Meredith, and if there was anyone in Kirkwall who had more contempt for his father than the Arishok, it was the Knight Commander.

Saemus rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "What a mess."

"Yes, Serrah," the Guard Captain said simply.

He let out a short laugh and turned. Hawke patted his shoulder and moved to tend to the wounded. There were more hurt than dead, he was grateful to notice. Ser Varnell was among the dead. He'd been unfortunate enough to see the exact moment that friend of Hawke's, the tattooed elf, had come out of nowhere and taken his head. The elf stood off to the side now, and Saemus frowned as he noted the way he was glaring at Hawke like he was angry with her. Before he could think on it more, his father arrived.

The elf's glare at Hawke was nothing compared to the one his father aimed at him. Saemus met his gaze squarely. He was the first to admit some of his actions were foolish but at least he was taking some kind of action, which was more than his father could say.

The Guard Captain stepped forward before his father could rip into him, drawing the Viscount's attention to her. She gave him a rundown of everything that had happened, including Petrice's actions, in a calm, even tone Saemus couldn't help but admire. His father's face grew paler and paler as he absorbed the information and came to the same realizations that Saemus had. "Madness…this is madness…"

"Exactly so, your Excellency," Hawke said quietly. "It's lunacy."

"A Chantry mother…you're quite sure?" His father was almost pleading for them to be mistaken. "You didn't see her with a sword in her hand, did you?"

"She doesn't need a sword in her hand when she has plenty of people willing to wield one in her name, Father," Saemus said sharply.

Dumar rounded on him. "You be quiet, boy. You've already made a bad situation worse!"

"On the contrary, Excellency, things would have been a great deal worse if Saemus hadn't been here," Hawke said. "For one thing, he's probably the only person in Kirkwall the Arishok would be willing to listen to. He would have killed anyone else that delivered the message about his men. The fact he has faith in Saemus' word is a good sign. He's not the one encouraging violence."

"Violence is the _last_ thing I want. Look at this, Father." He swept a hand out to encompass the warehouse Ser Varnell had been using as a base and all the people, dead and wounded, within. "This is hatred and ignorance right here. And it will get worse if it continues. I don't see qunari on one side here and our people on the other, Father. All I see is a tragedy. All I see are lives lost that didn't have to be!"

The Viscount closed his eyes. "Why haven't the qunari found their damned idol?" he muttered. "They've had plenty of time."

Saemus saw the guard captain and Hawke exchange a look and the elf raise his eyebrows, but none of them said anything. Hawke had sworn they were trying to find Tome that had been stolen but none of them had been able to track it down.

His father rubbed his temples. "I'll speak to the Grand Cleric and make some inquiries. Discreetly."

Always discretion, Saemus thought bitterly. Always walking carefully so no one was disturbed. Maker forbid the people of Kirkwall be made to think for once in their lives. Something on his face must have shown his thoughts, because his father narrowed his eyes at him. "The storm these allegations will cause could destroy what support I do have. Is that what you want, Saemus?"

_I want you to do the right thing._ Instead of saying it out loud, Saemus simply turned away and walked back to the bodies of the qunari.

The Viscount sighed behind him. "There's another problem. We can't return the bodies to the qunari in this state."

"All this time and you really don't think the Arishok already knows, Father?" Saemus glanced over his shoulder.

The Viscount glanced at him and then fixed his eyes on Hawke. "What do you think, Serrah Hawke? What should I do?"

"The Arishok will know if you do something to try and hide what was done to them, your Excellency. It will make things worse and we really can't afford that at this moment in time."

"I agree, Excellency," Aveline added.

His father rubbed his temples. "I suppose you're right. I'm losing my sense of how to balance this nightmare."

_Oh, Father, did you ever really have it?_ Saemus couldn't help the stab of sympathy that went through him. "I think Serrah Hawke and I should bring them back and inform the Arishok."

"Saemus…"

"He has to know, Father. Not saying anything about it will be the same to him as hiding the bodies and you can take it from me, if nothing else, that we need whatever little respect from the Arishok that we can get. Especially now."

"I'll go, Excellency." Hawke rose to her feet as servants of the Chantry and members of the guard came in to start taking the bodies and wounded away. "The delegates are dead, but we can tell the Arishok that the ones responsible are dead too. That should count for something."

"Thank you, Serrah Hawke. Kirkwall owes you a debt of gratitude." The words were begrudging, but Saemus gave his father points for saying them. "Saemus, I'd like a word with you, please."

The tone gave him a pause. Not an order, but a request. He nodded to Hawke and hung back as she walked out.

"Is it her?" The Vicount kept his voice low.

"What?"

His father leaned in earnestly. "I'm not blind, Saemus, despite what you might think. I see the way you look at her. I know several of the matrons have warned you against her."

"I'm not…"

He overrode him determinedly, taking hold of his arm. "If you'd wanted to court her before, I might have objected, but not now." His voice turned sly. "I know enough about the Qun to know you can never have her under its law."

Anger swelled up in Saemus and he jerked his arm free. "And between two evils, Hawke is the lesser one, is that it? Father, you insult me terribly and you insult _her_ unforgivably! You fear the disapproval of the nobility so badly you say you owe her a debt of gratitude to her face and speak of her so the second her back is turned!"

"This has nothing to do with what _anyone_ thinks!" The Viscount burst out, clamping both hands on his shoulders. " _You are my son!_ My only child!"

Stunned by the sudden show of emotion from his father, Saemus paused, looking up at him.

"You don't truly understand how at risk you are. I die a little every time you go down to that stronghold on the docks, and not just because of the possibility one of those horned men will kill you. You're putting yourself in danger from so many different directions that there is no one… _no one_ , Saemus…that can truly protect you. Not me. Not the guard. Not her. I'm not worried about what the damned nobility thinks, I'm worried about you losing your _life_. So, yes, I consider her the lesser of two evils. If you courted her, married her, that would outrage so many people, but they won't kill you for it. With her at your side, no one would dare."

Saemus was silent for a long time. He reached up and laid a hand on his father's arm. "There are other ways to see the world. The Qunari have shown me that, Father. I know you can't understand how much that means to me. I've never been able to make anyone understand how much we _need_ to see the world in other ways. To look beyond what someone tells us is right. I can't do it with words, so I have to do it with actions. That is a purpose I'm willing to dedicate my life to, Father. The same as any dedicated Chantry or templar. Willing to dedicate my life…or even give it. Because I think it's that important." He detached his father's hands, but gently this time. "I will be more vigilant in regards to my safety. I do understand, Father. But this is something I have to do."

The Viscount was a man who had been granted his station at the behest of others. He was a negotiator who took the path of least resistance and by all accounts had always been that way. He had never truly understood why someone would be willing to give their life for a cause and Saemus could see he didn't understand now. Perhaps he simply couldn't. But he didn't try and call his son back as he left.

Saemus brooded over his father's words on the journey down to the docks. At first, finding a cart for the bodies was hard because no one was willing to go down to the qunari stronghold. Guard Captain Vallen finally borrowed one and a guardsman named Donnic helped them guide the horse. He spoke quietly to Hawke now and again, but both of them left Saemus to his thoughts, which he was grateful for. He stirred as they reached the gates. The stens guarding it nodded to him and took in the cart. Without a word, they took down the bodies of their fallen comrades and carried them in.

"You should go back, Donnic," Hawke said when the last body was taken off the cart.

He shook his head. "I'll go up the hill a ways and wait for you. Aveline would skin me if anything happened to you."

"She'll skin me if anything happens to you. I'll thank you to remember."

Donnic only chuckled, but it was a strained sound. He wasn't unhappy at all to move further away from the qunari compound and he was sharp enough to sense he might not be welcome, Saemus noted.

They had laid the bodies on the ground before the Arishok's throne. When Saemus and Hawke came in, he was standing beside them, lifting the edge of one of the canvas coverings they'd wrapped them in and studying the bodies. "So, you were unable to save them."

Hawke drew in a soft breath and looked down with a bleak expression that disturbed Saemus. "No…"

"But you killed the ones responsible."

"The ones I could get to, yes."

"And the condition of the bodies?" The Arishok looked at them finally as he asked the leading question. Saemus knew his instincts had been correct: the Arishok already knew at least some of what had happened.

"A fanatic used them to incite others of his kind. Into a frenzy." Hawke's gaze was fixed not on the Arishok, but the bodies.

The giant nodded and turned to walk up the steps to his throne. "I accept that."

"It could have been worse," Saemus said quietly. A part of him wanted to apologize for even suggesting the whole affair but he shut it down the second it crossed his mind. He might have needed to if he was facing the humans of Kirkwall but not here. In the Arishok's eyes, he was not to blame and to apologize for it would be an insult.

Saemus understood, however, that it was Hawke's integrity that the Arishok had been testing here, proven when the Arishok looked at her and spoke again. "I have seen every vice and weakness amongst your kind. And how few of you take responsibility. The Viscount remains a fool, but you are not."

Hawke nodded slightly, accepting that compliment for what it was.

" _Panahedan_." The Arishok leaned back. "I will keep one other good thought about your kind." His eyes moved to Saemus for a brief moment and then he nodded, dismissing them both. Saemus felt a rush of pride and not for the first time, he reflected on the bitter irony that he genuinely wanted the Arishok's respect in a way he'd never wanted his father's. Or anyone else's, if he was honest.

Donnic looked relieved to see them. "Your father asked me to accompany you back to the keep, Serrah Dumar."

Saemus hesitated, looking over at Hawke. "I do want to talk to the Grand Cleric, but that can wait until tomorrow. I don't suppose confronting Mother Petrice will do much good."

"I don't see the point," Hawke replied.

He didn't either, he just had an urge to throw her treachery back in her face. They started walking, Donnic moving ahead of them. It was evening and Lowtown was awash with shadows. In fact, all of Kirkwall seemed awash with shadows, even during the day. "Maybe someone should remind her she's not the only one who can arrange an unfortunate 'accident' in Kirkwall."

Hawke turned to look at him, her eyes wide. He met her gaze defiantly for a moment before dropping his eyes. That wouldn't do any good, nor would he actually arrange such a thing if he could. "I know. I'm not her."

"No, you're not. Don't sink to her level, Saemus. Besides, by this point, killing Petrice won't stop things. If they decide to pin her death on the qunari, it might even make things worse."

"Yes, you're right."

"Besides, doesn't the Qun frown on actions like that? If you killed her yourself, it'd be one thing. The Qunari are nothing if not straightforward."

"I've never asked, but I can't imagine it supports such actions, no." He looked amused. "Of course, you've been reading up on the Qun."

"What I didn't learn from Theta I read up on, yes. Haze found a trader from Rivain who was willing to bring books there. The qunari coexist with humans over there, you know."

"I know. I put the idea forward about visiting there last year but, of course, my father wouldn't hear of it." Saemus had not had the chance to talk to someone except Theta about what he had been entertaining lately and he wasn't sure he would get this kind of chance again. "What did you think about what you read?"

"About the Qun?" She thought that over for a few moments. Nothing knee-jerk about Hawke's thoughts. She didn't make judgments until she was informed. Saemus found himself studying her features, the way her brow furrowed slightly and her eyes narrowed, focusing on nothing as she turned things over in her head. His father's words from earlier crept into his mind and he blushed a bit, hoping she wouldn't notice.

"It's interesting," Hawke said finally. "There's a lot to be admired about the qunari, but I suppose I have the same problem with it that I have with any religion. That absolute certainty that you're in the right, no matter what. They value intelligence and ingenuity but only to the point it doesn't upset their beliefs. I get hung up on the part where they're more than happy to force people to convert."

Those were points that troubled him a bit too, but not enough to make him think it wasn't worth it for the certainty and acceptance the Qun offered. Forcing conversion was a last resort, after all, and didn't happen often.

"Why do you ask, Saemus?" She was studying him now.

"I've considered, no, I _am_ considering converting to the Qun."

Hawke was silent again for a few minutes. "That will definitely cause an uproar."

Saemus shrugged, encouraged by the fact she hadn't immediately objected. "I'm not certain yet." He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm never certain about anything. What do you think, Hawke?"

She glanced away. He noted for the first time she seemed to be clutching something in one of her pockets. "I don't know if I should be advising you on anything, Saemus. Especially something that's so important. My track record on helping people isn't exactly good these days."

"I don't believe that. You came down here without question to try and save that delegate."

"And they're dead." She held up a hand and shook her head a bit. "I'm projecting. I'm sorry, Saemus. I admit, I don't understand why you would want to join the Qun. But I'm not you. I think you should be absolutely certain it's what you want, though. It's your life. The person who knows what's best for you is you, no matter what anyone else thinks."

The troubled look in her eyes made Saemus wonder if she was talking about someone besides him, but he appreciated the words nonetheless. "It isn't something I'm considering lightly. I promised Theta that and I'll promise you too."

"You won't dare break a promise to Theta, so I'll take comfort in that."

That surprised a laugh out of him, the first genuine laugh he'd had for a long time. "I'm not suited for politics, no matter how much my father wants to believe. After all I've seen and learned from the Qunari, taking up the role of Viscount, living that life seems…unbearable. Taking up a position where you hold the lives and happiness of so many people under duress doesn't seem fair to anyone involved. How can I be a good Viscount if I end up resenting the people I rule?"

"I understand, Saemus."

_If I had someone like you beside me, I might be able to handle it._ The thought came to him, but he didn't say it out loud. If he did end up joining the Qun, he couldn't have her that way. His father was right about that.

That thought lingered in Saemus' mind as they reached the Keep. He watched her fade into the night and stood on the steps for a long while, gazing out over Kirkwall.

* * *

Merrill was sitting on her bed and studying her mirror when she heard a slight noise and caught sight of a figure at her window. She grabbed her staff and rose. She was in no mood to deal pleasantly with pranksters or thieves this night. By the time she reached the window, the figure was gone but there was something sitting on the windowsill. Cautiously, she pushed the window open and picked up the cloth wrapped package there. When she unwrapped it, she pulled in a sharp breath and ran to the door, throwing it open and peering out into the night. She thought she saw a figure across the square near the gate but it didn't pause when she called out to it.

She closed the door, returning to sit on the edge of her bed, the Arulin'Holm gleaming in her hand.

 


	36. A Taste of Spring

_The wind is us- it gathers and remembers all our voices, then sends them talking and telling through the leaves and the fields.  
_

**\- Truman Capote**

* * *

Aveline generally hated having her hair done. In fact, if she was remembering correctly, the last time she'd had someone play with it was at her first wedding.

Leandra, however, had a gentle hand, gathering her hair up and pinning white flowers amongst the red. "You have such pretty hair, Aveline," Leandra said, smiling at her in the mirror.

"Other children used to laugh at me for having ginger hair." She'd had a similar conversation with Isabela. Remembering it made her scowl.

"No frowning on this day," Leandra chided.

"I think I might have been insane when I invited Isabela."

Leandra laughed. "Alessa said she promised to be on her best behavior."

"That doesn't mean much. Where is she, anyway?"

"Alessa? Probably bullying Bodhan or the people working on the gardens. She's a proper tyrant when it comes to organizing things."

"Who did she get that from, I wonder?"

Leandra's lips twitched. "Must have been her father." She secured the last flower and stepped back. "Stand up and let's have a look."

Aveline stood, brushing down the skirt of her dress. It was a simple gown of ivory satin, the skirt edged with Antivan lace that whispered softly every time she moved. More lace sheathed her arms, the sleeves coming to points at the back of her hands. She looked in the mirror and indulged herself a bit, turning her head from side to side to admire the way Leandra had pinned the flowers up. "Thank you, Leandra. For all of it. Hosting a wedding is a great deal of trouble…"

"Nonsense, Aveline. It's our pleasure. Besides, this is probably the only chance I'll get to fuss over bride like that. Bethany is in the Circle and Alessa…well…"

Aveline chuckled. "You'd have to find a man who can keep up with her first." _Who isn't a bitter escaped slave._

"Seneschal Bran's son is her age and he's looking for a wife." Leandra didn't sound like she had any real hope for that and with good reason. That boy was as arrogant as his father and she wasn't certain an actual thought had ever crossed his mind.

As if summoned, a tap came on the door and Hawke came in. She was dressed in deep red, her sleek black hair held up with silver combs. She stopped in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh, Aveline, you look beautiful!"

Aveline flushed a bit, brushing self consciously at her skirt again. "Thank you, Hawke. I don't dress up often."

"Donnic's jaw is going to hit the floor when he gets a look at you." Hawke looked at her mother and held up a black box.

Leandra nodded and took it, handing it to Aveline. "We wanted to give it to you before the wedding in case you wanted to wear it."

Aveline opened the box and stared. A thumb sized emerald set in a silver design was nestled in the box, strung on a choker of black velvet. "Oh, Maker…"

"You told me green was your favorite color," Hawke said, twisting her fingers together in front of her.

Leandra was smiling at her. "It's one of the pieces we found in the vault. A gift from our family to a truly admirable woman. I hope you'll accept it."

"And family in every way that counts," Hawke added.

"You're the only real family I've had for a long while," Aveline said quietly. "Thank you…"

She drew the necklace out and Hawke moved around her to tie it at the back. The emerald rested neatly in the hollow of her throat. Hawke rested a hand on her shoulder. "There now, let's hope Donnic isn't so distracted that he forgets his vows."

* * *

Donnic did nothing of the sort, although Aveline would remember the look in his eyes when he saw her for the rest of her life.

Leandra had offered them the use of the family's small chapel in the back of the estate, but they had decided to hold the ceremony in the garden instead. Aveline had always liked it, even more so with the changes Hawke had made. She'd had the formal fountain pulled out and installed one of natural stone, more like a waterfall. The garden itself was a mixture of wild flowers and more traditional garden flowers, and with spring well on its way, many of them were blooming. There was also plenty of room for the guardsmen standing at respectful attention for their commander, as well as her friends and Donnic's family.

Leandra and Hawke stood off to the side. Varric was standing next to Hawke and Aveline swore she saw tears in his eyes. Merrill was sitting crosslegged amongst a patch of wild flowers, her hands clasped in front of her, grinning in delight. She wasn't even trying to hide her tears. Isabela was leaning against the side of the house, smirking but keeping her peace. She'd even put on a dress for the occasion. Dark blue with slits in the side of the skirt clear up to her hips, which was modest for Isabela.

Donnic's hands were warm in hers and his dark eyes locked with hers as they took their vows. When they were pronounced man and wife, the garden erupted with cheers. Donnic drew her close and kissed her slowly. Aveline let herself drift on the sensation. A feeling of vast contentment filled her as she leaned back and smiled at her husband.

For all the troubles around them, Aveline looked over at Leandra and Hawke, felt Donnic's hand in hers and felt truly at home in Kirkwall for the first time.

* * *

The ladies of the de Launcet household would have found the party to be terribly gauche. Certainly, the Guard Captain was well known and respected, but her wedding was hardly the event of the season. Yet the street in front of the Hawke estate was unusually busy that day. Nobles from the other side of the city were strolling by with exaggerated casualness. The City of Chains had seen a great many strange things throughout the course of its history but it was a safe bet this was a gathering with sights no one had seen before…

* * *

"Theta carved them all. And installed them for us. Theta can do anything, I'm sure you've noticed that. That one is Finnagin." Hawke pointed to the hawk sculpture that decorated the corner of the house. "No, wait, Finnagin is on the other side of the house. That's Messier Pointy Face. Give Merrill credit for coming up with creative names."

Saemus snickered and took a sip of wine. "Does Theta know she's named all of them?"

"No, and my mother doesn't know she and Sandal like swinging on the chandelier in the main hall either." She paused. "Please don't mention that to her."

"I can promise not to say a word to your mother. Theta, on the other hand…" He pointed to where Merrill was enthusiastically talking to the kossith woman, making extravagant hand gestures and motioning toward the stone hawks. Merrill had a glass of sparkling wine in one hand and a handful of cookies in the other. Theta looked like she was struggling between amusement and horror. "Ah, well. It might put a dent in Theta's pride, but the hawks are made of stone. They won't care. Kind of like you and noble opinions."

She scowled at the leading statement. "I said no."

"Please, Hawke?" Saemus tried his best charming smile.

"Turning on the charm doesn't work with me, Saemus."

"Consider it a duty to Kirkwall. Follow my logic here…"

She narrowed her eyes at him. Saemus persisted. "I get in trouble when I'm bored at parties like that. If you're with me, I won't be bored because I'll have you to talk to. So I won't get in trouble or offend anyone, which is good for Kirkwall!"

"You want me to go because Lady Mallen hates me and you know perfectly well the evening will probably end with a fight."

"That thought never even crossed my mind."

"Liar."

"If you say you'll come with me, I'll quit bothering you about it."

"If I throw you in the fountain, you'll quit bothering me about it."

"You're not going to do anything that'll spoil this day," he said quite confidently.

"I'll drag you back tomorrow and throw you in."

"Come with me for the sake of friendship, then."

"I don't like you _that_ much."

"Yes, you do."

She huffed out a laugh and Saemus thought he saw her softening a bit. Maker, he hoped so. The idea of spending the evening with the seneschal on one side and Lady Mallen on the other was just depressing. "Think about it?" he wheedled. That was a step up from flat out refusal; he'd consider it a victory for this day.

Hawke sighed and shook her head. "Fine…but if I go and end up insulting more people than you would have, it's on your head."

That was the exact reason he was hoping she would go. It would be so much fun to watch. "I'll take the risk."

* * *

Leandra accepted a glass of sparkling wine from Corff with a smile. "This is a familiar scene. Except, knowing Father, we're probably paying you better."

Corff had to laugh. "Your father was quite generous, my lady."

"You can call me by my name, Corff, you're not a servant here anymore," she said, her tone gently teasing. "You're a respected businessman, in fact."

Corff blushed a bit and busied himself with filling glasses and handing some to Orana when she walked up. "I imagine there's not a lot of respect for The Hanged Man in Hightown."

"And yet your liquor is a lot better than most of the bars and clubs in Hightown and that's a simple fact." Maecon the guardsman came up to get a mug of ale, tipping it toward Corff in a salute.

"That's true enough," Leandra said thoughtfully. She grinned at their looks. "Not that I would know."

"Not to mention the entertainment is better," Maecon said. "Maybe Brennan will recite some more poetry today, eh, Corff?"

The bartender winced. "Let's see if we can get Orana to play instead."

"Did she go down to play for you? Good, I was hoping she'd start going out a bit. She's so much less jumpy than she used to be." Leandra beamed at the young elf. Orana was currently working for them but Leandra had hopes she might find something else she wanted to do.

She also wondered how long it would take Alessa's friend Zek to quit making puppy eyes at her and make a move.

* * *

"So." Varric made a grand gesture as he faced his audience. "So then, Hawke kicks open the door and she…"

"Broke my foot?" Hawke interrupted, wandering up. She had a bottle of sparkling wine in her hands and topped off everyone's glasses. Donnic chuckled and Aveline rolled her eyes.

Varric scowled at Hawke, who batted her eyelashes at him. "What? It was a heavy door."

"Say it was Aveline who busted it down all dramatically. People will believe that," Isabela suggested. She'd lowered her liquor standards to sparkling wine in order to give them a proper toast.

"Shut up, whore," Aveline said without any real rancor.

Isabela pouted. "Aww, and here I got this nice dress just for you."

"That's my dress," Hawke pointed out.

"Where I got it is beside the point."

"How'd you even stuff yourself inside it?" That was a valid question. Isabela was at least two inches taller than Hawke was and her curves were a great deal more substantial.

"She didn't, she's bursting at the seams, see?" Aveline said. Laughter erupted all around them.

Which, of course, only encouraged Isabela. She stepped forward and raised her glass of sparkling wine. "A toast to the newlyweds!"

"Uh oh…" Varric muttered.

"I'd like to wish Donnic the best of luck not ending up with a broken back on the wedding night!"

Donnic sighed.

"And Aveline, may your new husband curl your toes."

"Isabela." Aveline's growl would have done a mabari proud.

"Float your frigate."

" _Isabela."_

"Dwarf your beard. Grey your warden. Pudding your peach. Shank your Jory. Arl your Eamon."

"What in the void is _that_ supposed to mean?" Hawke's voice was choked and Varric had to turn away, reminding himself a good laugh wasn't worth the pain of a good solid punch.

Isabela ignored her. "Or how about 'satisfy the demand of your Qun'? Cup your Joining? Master your taint? That's an old one."

Saemus Dumar, standing between Varric and Hawke, had gone an interesting shade of red. Muffled chuckles were echoing through the garden. Theta had two fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose and was shaking her head slowly. Leandra Hawke was holding a glass in one hand looking like she was giving some serious consideration to lobbing it at the pirate's head.

Aveline, surprisingly, was simply watching her with narrowed eyes. She raised an eyebrow. "Got it out of your system?"

Merrill's head had been bobbing back and forth like an owl's as she looked between the two women. "Got what out of her system? The taint? Didn't you say something about the joining, that's a Grey Warden thing, isn't it? Are you a Grey Warden, Isabela?"

That broke everyone. Merrill looked around as laughter exploded around her, utterly confused. "What?"

"Oh, Merrill." Isabela threw an arm around her shoulders and steering her away…conveniently putting some distance between her and Aveline. "Let's get a drink."

* * *

"I wish Bethany could be here," Hawke said quietly. Leandra slid an arm around her daughter's waist and watched as people whirled around the space they had cleared for dancing. Donnic and Aveline were in the center of it all, their eyes on each other. Varric was doing some kind of comically fussy dance, holding onto Theta's hand. The kossith woman was laughing, a carefree sound that was rare from her and lifted Hawke's heart.

"I know," Leandra said quietly. "Since Ser Royce was going to be here, I thought I might be able to make a case about her attending for a few hours." She nodded to the Orlesian templar where he was chatting with a couple of the guardsmen. An easygoing man, he'd been sent along to keep control of Zek when they'd come to Kirkwall. According to Zek, it was supposed to be a punishment and Royce had decided not to let anyone know how much he was enjoying it. "The Knight Commander wouldn't even consider it."

"Shocking." Alessa's voice was dry.

The two women stood and watched the dancers silently for a bit. Leandra spoke abruptly: "Donnic had every right to invite Fenris if he wanted, it's his wedding, but I'm rather glad he didn't come. It spared me from having to pretend to tolerate him."

"Mother…"

"Donnic told me he was shadowing you during that horrid affair with the qunari…the latest one at least. Well and good, but I still don't want to be civil."

Hawke hadn't even seen Fenris in the weeks since. Since the last time she'd seen him, he'd been glaring at her with seven shades of void in his eyes aimed right at her, she wasn't regretful of it. She didn't need another reminder she'd risked her life putting herself in the sights of the qunari again.

"Ser Royce and Corff both keep looking at you," she teased to lighten the conversation…and change the subject. "If you're not careful, they're going to end up dueling for your affections."

"Apparently I don't have a lack of admirers these days," Leandra said with a secretive little smile.

Alessa peered up at her. "Oh? Who else?"

Leandra just kept smiling and took a sip of wine, wandering toward the dance area. By that time, drink had made everyone's steps a bit wobbly. Currently, Sandal, Merrill, and Varric were dancing around in circles, punctuating each step with cries of, "Enchantment!" Every time they did, people simply collapsed in laughter. Even Aveline was laughing hard.

_Not the way any party my parents would have thrown would end up._ But Leandra Hawke wasn't the same woman she'd been then, she'd seen hardships the likes of which no one in her family had. This…seemed a far better party. She smiled, basking in the laughter and chaos and friendship around her while she pointedly ignored her daughter's pestering about her admirer.

* * *

It was late night by the time the party wound down. Leandra watched from the window as a parade of cheering, chanting guardsmen escorted the newlyweds down the street to the house they'd bought together a few weeks before the wedding. The guest rooms at the Hawke estate were full of people too drunk to walk home. Alessa had hauled Varric into a guest room and let her mother and Orana take care of Merrill. Since Saemus was a bit tipsy, Alessa and Theta walked him back to the Keep. Leandra turned her eyes toward them as they walked out of the estate. Like the Viscount, she had not missed the way he looked at her daughter. An interesting pairing, that. Maybe she'd be able to throw a wedding for one of her daughters after all.

Smiling, Leandra stepped away from the window and drew the blinds. There was cleanup that had to be done, a large task even with the extra servants hired for the evening. She wouldn't be able to sleep until Alessa came home safely anyway.

She paused before going downstairs, admiring the flowers she had set on the table at her bedside. She ran a thumb over the soft white petals. It had been perhaps a bit mean to tease Alessa about it, but this admirer apparently wanted to remain secret for now.

_I can take the pain now, Malcolm,_ she thought to her husband, dead for more than six years now. She remembered the bold, dashing young mage who would climb through that very window behind her and sweep her out into a world she'd never really looked at before. She remembered how time and hardship had tempered that dashing young man into a strong, quiet man. Their marriage hadn't been an easy one, but she had never doubted that Malcolm's heart and soul had been dedicated to her and their children. Utterly.

The hurt of losing first him, then Carver had faded into a tolerable level. Perhaps seeing Aveline opening her heart and allowing herself to love again after losing Wesley made her think she could do it too.

And even if the flowers meant nothing, she could still enjoy them. Lilies were her favorite.


	37. The Darkest Night

_It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone._

**\- John Steinbeck**

* * *

Varric stood in the doorway of the Hanged Man, staring out into the night. The wind was high tonight, howling through the streets with the hint of a storm on the air. People trying to walk were battered back and forth across the street, hunched over to make themselves a smaller target.

"Oi, shut that door!" someone shouted from within the tavern. Varric glared at him over his shoulder and the man glanced away, muttering. Varric looked back into the night and stepped back, letting the door slam shut. He returned to his table, grabbing his ale and swigging it down. He was on edge, and he couldn't put a finger on why.

There was something wrong with this night.

Isabela leaned back in her chair. Varric noted that even she looked a bit distracted. Fenris was sitting right beside her and she hadn't made a single innuendo toward him.

Fenris himself had sat down for a game of Diamondback but hadn't played a hand for the past two rounds. Under normal circumstances, that would have been a relief. The elf was a demon at the game. He looked up at Varric as the dwarf rejoined the table. "There's something evil on the air tonight," he said quietly.

That pretty much summed it up, Varric thought. He shook his head and called for another drink, trying to focus on the game.

Maybe he was expecting something to happen, because he wasn't really surprised when Bodhan came blundering through the door. The dwarf merchant looked around until his pale gaze fastened on Varric. "Messire Varric!"

"What's wrong?" Varric sat up straight, dread blooming in the depths of his chest. "Bodhan, what is it?"

"Lady Hawke…" the other dwarf panted, pressing a hand to his chest. "Lady Hawke…she went out…I shouldn't have let her…"

"What are you talking about?" Fenris had lunged up from his seat.

Bodhan swayed on his feet. "Lady Leandra…ah, Master Varric, I hadn't realized…"

"Sit down, Bodhan." Varric pulled a chair out and handed him a cup of ale.

Bodhan drank gratefully, calming down enough to speak clearly. "Messere Gamlen came to the manor and told us Lady Leandra hadn't come down to his house for their weekly visit. But she's been gone all day. I hadn't thought anything of it because I thought she might have been with a suitor." Bodhan's voice started to shake again. "She's been receiving flowers, you see. No signature or message with it. No one knows who they were coming from." His eyes met Varrics. "W-white lilies."

Varric felt cold. With all that had been happening with the Chantry and the qunari, he hadn't given that killer much thought, especially since there hadn't been a murder in a few months.

But he did remember both Aveline and Hawke telling him the killer sent his victims white lilies.

Maker's breath.

"Hawke," he finally managed. "Where's Hawke?"

"I don't know. By my ancestors, I don't. I think she went to Darktown but she wasn't making much sense. She grabbed her armor and weapons and bolted."

Since she hadn't come here, she must have rushed off to Darktown alone. _Dammit, Hawke._ Varric ground his teeth, furious and afraid. _Think, man. Think._ He saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye and his head jerked up. "Fenris, _wait!"_

The elf was already halfway toward the door. When he spun back, Varric had to fight not to step back from the look in his eyes. Men had died painfully after seeing that look. And the panic he could clearly see underlying the anger didn't reassure him at all. "If everyone runs off half-cocked, we'll just be running around Kirkwall and we'll never find her."

Fenris absorbed that. For a moment, Varric thought he was going to leave anyway, but he nodded curtly instead, his long frame relaxing a bit. Varric turned back to Bodhan. "All right. Go to the Keep and get Aveline Vallen. Tell her about the lilies, she knows more about it than any of us." Bodhan nodded and rushed out.

Varric sat down, his mind racing, scribbling out a message and sending one of his people out to deliver it. He called over several dwarves who were part of his spy network. They'd overheard everything and nodded grimly when he gave them instructions. He glanced toward Corff, who looked sick. "I'm leaving a message here in case the guards come."

"I'll give it to them," Corff promised. He swallowed hard. "You really think this…this killer took Leandra?"

He couldn't think about that, not now. "I hope not, Corff. Ancestors help us all, I hope not."

* * *

The one real blessing he could count was that Hawke wasn't making any effort to hide her tracks.

Varric's network of spies and contacts had continued to grow over the years, especially since he'd taken up duties from the Merchant's Guild (in his own way). There was very little that went on in Lowtown or Darktown he didn't know about and you had to be pretty good at hiding stuff in Hightown to keep it from him.

It didn't take long to start putting the pieces together, and every piece made the picture worse and worse.

Varric desperately wanted to believe that someone other than this killer had taken Leandra, but in his heart he knew it had to be. He truly had no idea who would have had the balls to kidnap Leandra Hawke. It had to be some kind of madman, because no one sane would have _dared_. Anyone sane would have known there was nowhere they could run that Hawke wouldn't find them if they harmed her mother. And even if they were stupid enough not to fear Hawke's wrath, they knew who Hawke was connected to. The kind of wrath that could be brought down on their heads for even laying a hand on Leandra would have dissuaded anyone driven by greed or even revenge.

A little boy said he'd seen Leandra earlier in the evening. She'd been walking along in Lowtown, probably on the way to Gamlen's house, when someone had called to her for help. She'd gone into an alley and he had not seen her come back out. He had forgotten about it until another lady had given him some coin to point out where she'd gone. He was more than happy to repeat the process and even happier to accept more coins to run and tell one of the guardsmen.

He'd been watching Leandra, whoever he was, Varric thought furiously. Learning enough about her to know if someone asked her for help in the right way, she would have gone with them without thinking of her own safety. It wouldn't even have occurred to Leandra that it was a trick.

Bastard.

The dwarf moved down the alley that the boy had pointed out, taking in every detail. Fenris was right at his heels, his markings alight, casting an eerie glow on the walls around them. Isabela brought up the rear, watching their backs.

Just at the end of the alley, there was a stain on the ground. It gleamed in the light from Fenris and Varric lit a match to get a better look. Isabela drew in a sharp breath behind him.

Blood.

Not just a splash, either. It was a congealing pool, the edges of it already drying to a muddy brown on the stone.

Fenris made a sound deep in his throat, his markings flaring even brighter. "There's blood magic at work here, I can feel the traces of it."

"Shit," Varric whispered. He rose to his feet and stepped out of the alley. He filched a lantern from nearby and lit it. There was more blood leading away from the pool and he led the way, following it through the winding streets until they were enveloped by Darktown. The splashes of blood were getting smaller by then and it wasn't long before they were mere drops. Frustrated, the dwarf raised the lantern higher, searching for some indication of which way to go.

They were in a run down graveyard of old foundries, surrounded by spikes of metal and looming, ancient machinery. It was quiet and deserted, even the sound of the wind from the streets above were oddly muted. Hushed. Like Kirkwall itself was holding its breath and waiting for something.

If there had been more noise and movement, they probably wouldn't have heard it when Hawke screamed, but they did. They all did. It was a wordless, agonized wail that didn't sound human, spiraling up from the depths of the ancient foundry where Leandra had been taken. It seemed to go on and on, echoing and rebounding through the metal all around until it sounded like something dredged up from the deepest, darkest nightmare of the Fade. It froze Varric in his tracks for a long moment. It brought Aveline and the guards she'd brought with her, including Donnic and Brennan, up short right as they entered the area.

It had the opposite effect on Fenris. No word or deed would have stopped the elf from charging after that sound if anyone had been of a mind to try. It filled his ears until it was all he could hear. He didn't even realize he was calling her name over and over.

Whether it was that cry or pure instinct that guided Fenris, he didn't need to see the dead demon just inside the door to know he was in the right building. There were more demons in the room beyond, moving among skeletons with far better armor and weapons than was usual for a blood mage's minions. Even as Fenris charged in, more were rising. It didn't matter. He had the advantage of surprise because most of them were turned to battle Anders, who was already in the center of the room. That didn't matter either.

All that mattered was his Hawke was somewhere in the middle of this wretched place and he would slaughter anything that stood in his way of getting to her.

In the minutes it took for the rest of them to catch up, Fenris had already finished off the ones Anders hadn't gotten and was stalking into the next room. Anders just got out of his way, turning to face Varric and Aveline as they ran up. "Where'd you come from, Blondie?" Varric looked up at him, his brow furrowed.

"I left the clinic when your messenger came. I was headed for the Hanged Man but I saw that Orlesian blood mage you asked me to keep an eye on. It seemed awfully coincidental. I followed him here. I was going to take a look around and them come get you but then I heard…I heard Alessa."

"Have you seen her or Leandra?" Aveline pushed past him grimly, hurrying toward the sounds of battle ahead.

"No, but I didn't get far in. I don't know how many she had to fight through but Maker's breath, whoever this blood mage is, he has to be powerful."

"Gascard DuPris," Aveline said through gritted teeth.

A skeleton came flying out of the next room to shatter against the wall and Anders dodged out of the way just in time. Aveline motioned to her guardsmen and they grimly moved in to clear the room, steering clear of Fenris.

The next room was twice as big as the others. There were bodies piled against the walls- all of them women -and a wide table covered with a bloody sheet none of them had the stomach to look under at the moment. Most of the bodies were decayed, but Aveline found one that looked like she'd died recently. It was the other Alessa, the one DuPris had been holding captive.

Her eyes were gone.

Sickened, Aveline backed away from the body. "He took her eyes. Why in Andraste's name would he take her eyes?"

"I think Fenris might be able to help us shed some light on that," Varric said as a cry of pain echoed across the room.

As Anders had said, Gascard DuPris was here. Fenris had him pinned against a table, his hand buried in the blood mage's stomach as he snarled into his face. "Where are they? What have you done, mage? _What have you done to her?_ "

"I didn't…" DuPris screamed in pain as Fenris twitched his hand.

"I'll shred you from the inside out," Fenris promised. "You will _beg_ for death." His green eyes were blazing and homicidal. Even from Aveline's vantage point he looked insane.

"I swear it! I just followed her down here!" Gascard sobbed. "It was Quentin who took her mother!"

"Quentin."

"I don't know where he is, but if you find him, you'll find her! Please…" Gascard was sheet white by then, looking on the verge of fainting.

Fenris glared into his face for a few moments more, then slowly withdrew his hand, leaving him intact. DuPris collapsed to his knees, panting.

Isabela stepped around him, her gaze turned upward, fixed on a picture that hung on the wall. It was surrounded by a shrine of some sort, white lilies set on either side of the portrait. For a confused moment, Aveline thought it was a portrait of Leandra. She came up beside Isabela, momentarily fascinated.

It wasn't Leandra, though the resemblance was striking. The eyes were smaller and set closer together. The face was a bit broader, lacking that refined edge that gave Leandra such a look of nobility no matter what her circumstances. The portrait, the way it was set up as an object of worship, gave Aveline an uneasy feeling.

"Guard-Captain!" Brennan came running into the room. "I heard sounds of fighting deeper into the building. It looks like we have to go down a level."

Aveline wrenched herself away from the portrait and called her men to her. "Keep it tight, all of you! We need to expect anything!"

She would reflect on those words later, because there was nothing that could have prepared them for that room.

* * *

_The hours since he'd first slid the blade between her ribs had been endless agony for Leandra Hawke. The strike was perfect. He'd drawn her close before she could react and the blade had flashed, vanishing up beneath her ribs in a clear moment of brilliant pain. She'd dimly felt warmth washing down the front of her dress and then her vision had clouded. She'd barely had time to realize she was dying when the real pain began. It started as a prickle in the depths of her brain, spreading out from there. It was like a thousand tiny, white hot needles marching through her veins, bringing her back into lucidity against her will. She could think, she could see, but she could not speak or move, trapped in her own head as he swept her into his arms, murmuring a name that wasn't hers and pressing cold lips to her forehead._

_He talked endlessly as he carried her through Darktown, down into the nightmare factory he'd turned the old foundry into, gazing down at her with mad, adoring eyes. "I've searched for you so long," he whispered, laying her out on a blood washed table. "I kept every feature of you in my memory. I studied your portrait again and again until I could recognize you everywhere. I sought out every vessel you appeared in, put you back together piece by piece. Oh, you can't imagine the joy I felt when I saw this vessel. Your face. Your beautiful face. That smile." He stroked her face slowly, reverently. "Just the eyes were wrong. But I found them too." He gestured to a fresh body nearby. "I saw them looking at me and just_ knew. _"_

_He spoke of love to her. About its all consuming power. His voice never lost that soft, worshipful tone and his eyes held no hint of empathy. She didn't know what it was he saw when he looked at her but he was ignorant of the pain his hands inflicted. Blood magic coursed through her, binding her tighter and tighter to him._

_He told her he loved her again and again as he removed her eyes and left her in darkness._

_Leandra thought seeing through the new eyes- the hot needles in her veins forming a connection between the unfamiliar orbs and her brain –was the worst sensation she had ever felt. That hideous feeling of seeing through eyes that rested, unfamiliar, not hers,_ other _, in her sockets._

_That was before he brought the body over. A slender form dressed in a torn, stained wedding gown. He carried it like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold._

_It had no head._

_And oh, Maker, she wished for ignorance then. Wished he'd taken her eyes and left her blind. Wished she could run. Wished, even, that she could simply beg, try and appeal to whatever gleam of humanity he might still have._

_She could do none of these things._

_She could only watch as he brought the saw out. She closed heavy, sluggish lids over those eyes that were not hers, grateful that at least she didn't have to see. She felt her hands spasm as the saw cut through her spine, then all feeling fled. Her eyes flew open helplessly as the world moved in a dizzying kaleidoscope and she caught a glimpse of her body as he brought her to the other one. Her hand was still twitching and she fixed her attention on the ring on her finger. A simple golden circle with a small crest stamped with a hawk. A remnant from Malcolm's family that, along with his staff, was all he had left. He'd slid it onto her finger the day she'd pledged herself to him forever._

_The other body had a similar ring, this one with a line of small diamonds set in it. Another promise of forever._

_She wouldn't be able to keep her promise. Leandra realized it as those cruel fingers worked, holding a needle that punched neat little stitches into the flesh of her neck, sealing her into that patchwork of a body. Her soul was trapped. She would never see Malcolm. Or Carver. She was blocked from her family both living and dead._

_Even that…even that wasn't the worst._

_No, the worst came after he laid the bridal veil on her head and carried her, weeping with joy and covering her cold face with even colder kisses, into another room. He placed her on a throne like chair that was faced away from the entrance._

_She didn't see Alessa come in, but she heard her voice and despaired as she saw the smug, patient smile that curved his lips when he turned to face off with her daughter. He motioned to her and Leandra felt herself lurch to her feet clumsily. Not even the best blood magic could infuse grace into muscles dead for that long._ No, no, no. _She didn't want Alessa to see her. She didn't want her daughter to see what had been done to her. Some spark of the indomitable will that had held the Hawke family together in the hardest of times flared to life and Leandra halted, fighting him. He frowned at her, reproachful, and forced his will upon her even more firmly. She stumbled helplessly around the chair._

 _Alessa was standing alone in the middle of that abominable sepulcher._ Alone. _She didn't even have Moose with her. And that…that was the worst. She'd known Alessa would come for her. The worst came from the realization her precious daughter had come alone into this monster's grasp when it was already too late. Her mismatched eyes were fixed on Leandra, her face going slack with shock and horror. She didn't see them rising behind her, the blood mage's minons._

" _I've searched far and wide for you, beloved," the blood mage said. That maddening adoration was in his eyes again. "And no force on earth will part us." He obviously thought he was reassuring her as he gestured toward this final obstacle, her child, in an almost careless gesture._

_Alessa screamed; a shriek of mingled pain, rage, and grief matched only by the one in Leandra's mind as the hoards fell on her._

Alessa. _A soft, protesting moan passed Leandra's lips._

_She couldn't win. There were so Maker bedamned many of them. Skeletons and demons and revenants attacking Alessa from all sides while their master watched from a safe distance like the coward he was, a sphere of protection around the two of them. Alessa couldn't win but she fought anyway. Oh, how she fought. Leandra had seen her daughter in battle before but this was a sight even one of Varric's stories couldn't match. She tore through the monsters like a demon herself, driving them back, using every fighting method and alchemical trick at her disposal. Bodies piled up around her, bones and body parts flew. But every wound inflicted on her only enhanced his magic and for every one she destroyed, another rose._

_She was going to die. Alessa was going to die in front of her._

_A shudder tore through Leandra. "Alessa." It burst from her lips. "Alessa!"_

_The blood mage looked over at her distractedly. He looked troubled. Clearly, Alessa was lasting longer than he liked. "Eh? Yes, beloved, I could probably raise that girl to fight, but she'd be of little use without eyes."_

_It took her a long moment to muddle through that nonsense and realize he thought she was talking about that poor child whose eyes were now hers. The poor dead girl who shared her daughter's name._

_Her daughter's…name…_

He didn't know her daughter's name.

 _Sheer outrage tore another sound from Leandra's throat, fury coursing through her. 'He doesn't know her name._ He doesn't know her name. _Ten of him aren't worth one of her. Alessa. My baby. My strange, brilliant daughter. I love you. Sometimes you remind me so much of your father it hurts. Everything I never understood about him I understand even less in you and oh, Alessa, there have been so many times I've never understood you at all. But there's never been a time, not once, not_ ever _, that I didn't love you with all my heart. And now you've come after me when there's nothing you can do and you'll blame yourself and this monster is going to kill you and_ he doesn't even know your name!'

_She wanted to kill him. If it had been possible, she would have wrapped her hands around his scrawny throat. Since her limbs didn't have the strength for that, she lurched hard to the side and slammed herself against the chair. Maker help her, if she couldn't save her Alessa, she'd bash this body he'd worked so hard on to pieces. He spun toward her, shock and distress flooding his features. He tried to take control of her again and she fought him with everything in her. Behind him, the skeletons he'd been trying to raise stopped and crumbled into dust. Leandra felt a wild surge of triumph. When he tried to turn back and call a spell, his will slipped from her. Whatever power he had, he couldn't focus on both her and the battle at the same time. Leandra lifted those unfamiliar hands, hooking the fingers into claws and raking the nails hard down her face. The blood mage let out a cry of horror and focused on her again. The shield spell faltered as he physically restrained her and tried to subdue her mentally. Behind him, Alessa rammed a dagger through the last of the shades and then she was on him._

_He shoved Leandra to the ground and turned to battle Alessa. He was still strong, already calling more beasts as they struggled. But now Leandra had hope. Because she'd seen what he didn't as she fell. She saw the figure come tearing through the door, glowing so brightly he looked like some spirit from the Fade. Leandra lifted her head with some effort as Fenris paused long enough to take the scene in, and he clearly only saw one thing in the room. His face showed what he didn't say out loud, maybe even in his own mind._

'You know what the most powerful force in the universe is? Love." _The blood mage had said that to Alessa earlier._ 'You love her, elf,' _she thought._ 'You love my daughter, so shove that bastard's own words down his throat and _save her_."

_Fenris came at the mage as if he'd heard those words. The minons fell to his sword like they were nothing. Leandra pushed herself slowly to her feet. More beasts were starting to rise, but it didn't matter, because they were met by the others now. Aveline and Varric and Anders and that smart mouthed pirate were all spilling into the room to kill the rest of them off. Fenris tore the mage away from Alessa and plunged his hand into his chest even as he spun to put himself between them. The mage's scream was bliss but all too brief as the elf ripped his heart free of his chest in a spray of blood._

_Leandra found that an entirely fitting end for him._

_But here came Alessa now, stumbling toward her covered in blood and her eyes bright with pain but alive, alive, alive. The magic started to drain from her limbs and she stumbled. Alessa caught her and lowered her to the floor, cradling her. "Mother…Anders, please…"_

" _There's nothing I can do." Anders came up beside her, staring down at Leandra with sorrow in his eyes. "His magic was the only thing keeping her alive, Alessa. I'm so sorry."_

" _Leandra…" Aveline came up beside Anders, her voice choked._

_She would miss both of them but at the moment she had little time and she needed every bit of it for Alessa. "I knew you would come."_

" _Mother…" Alessa looked down at her with exhausted, fearful eyes._

" _It's all right, darling." She could speak easily without the blood mage's will pressing in on her. "That man would have kept me trapped here. Now I'm free." She managed to lift a hand up and Alessa caught it. "I get to see Carver again. And your father."_

_Alessa closed her eyes and pressed her hand against her cheek._

_Darkness was starting to creep in on the edges of her vision and numbness crawled through her limbs. "My…my little girl has become so strong. Alessa…" Her fingers curled slightly, cupping her cheek. "I love you. You…you've always made me so proud."_

_And now she had to hope the living could look after her daughters, because she no longer could. That darkness closed over her and she let go, her soul flying from that broken body. Free._


	38. Blood for Blood

_I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full._

**-Sylvia Plath**

* * *

Fenris had never felt so helpless in his life. Not when he'd been a slave and not when he'd been free.

Quentin's dark foundry was oppressively silent. It weighed down on them all. Aveline's head was bowed and tears made tracks along that usually stern face. Despite the fact they were officially on duty, Donnic came up beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Varric had turned away, rubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to hide the fact he was swiping at his eyes. Isabela stood off to the side, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Anders was staring down at Leandra Hawke's body. Like Aveline, he wasn't making any attempt to hide his tears.

Hawke was utterly still and silent.

She was still holding on to her mother. The corpse's limbs looked disturbingly loose and disjointed; without magic, the stitches were the only thing holding it together and he hoped with everything in him it didn't fall apart because he didn't want to think of what that would do to Hawke.

Fenris finally stirred when he took in the amount of blood starting to pool around Hawke and he realized how gravely wounded she was. Maker, she was a mess. Her armor was torn. Her shoulder was laid open to the bone and something had bitten a good sized chunk out of her arm. She had at least a dozen more wounds, some of them deep. Anders must have taken note of it, too, because he knelt beside her and laid his hands very lightly on her shoulders, his healing magic starting to go to work. Hawke didn't even flinch when the wounds started to knit together.

Aveline was the next to stir, moving around so she was kneeling on the other side of Leandra's body. "Hawke." Her voice was gentle. She started to reach for the body and Hawke jerked, pulling it closer to her in a protective gesture that was utterly heartbreaking. "Hawke," Aveline's voice sharpened a bit, trying to snap her out of whatever daze she'd fallen into. "Hawke, come now. At least let's close her eyes…"

Hawke finally looked at her. "But Aveline…" Her voice managed to be bemused and matter-of-fact at the same time. "Aveline, those aren't her eyes."

"Shit." Varric's voice broke on the explicative. The guardswoman Brennan stumbled away and Fenris could hear her retching.

Aveline swallowed hard, but kept her face stoic. "She's gone, Hawke. She's free. She said so, remember?"

Hawke shuddered, her head bowing. This time, when Aveline carefully drew Leandra out of Hawke's arms, she didn't resist. Anders made her sit and coaxed her into drinking a couple of healing potions. She drank them obediently, like a child.

Fenris stood, Quentin's blood still dripping from one gauntlet, and watched her. Everything inside him ached. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms and carry her away somewhere he could shield her from pain and sorrow and just the world in general. He wanted Quentin to be alive again so he could kill him over and over for putting that look in her eyes.

The elf turned away, unable to deal with that seething tide of emotions. A thought struck him and he strode into the other room where Quentin's shrine was. He wasn't surprised Gascard DuPris was not there, but he made a pass through the area that had obviously served as Quentin's library and living quarters anyway. There was a bed, several bookshelves, and a table scattered with papers near the shrine. DuPris had been near the table when Fenris had first spotted him. He glanced over the papers but found nothing but ramblings and the scribblings of a madman. Except one piece of paper that held a letter with such neat, compact penmanship, it was glaring against the wild swoops of ink on the rest of them. He plucked it up and scanned it with narrowed eyes:

_My dear friend,_

_I have obtained the books you requested. I'll leave them at our usual hiding spot. Please collect them as soon as possible. I would hate to see them in the wrong hands!_

_Your last letter was fascinating! You have proven me wrong, once again, by doing the impossible. I shouldn't have doubted your resolve, and I hope you will keep me apprised of further progress._

_Your friend and colleague,_

_O_

Fenris folded the letter, resolving to hand it over to Aveline, since he could glean no clues from it who this O was or why he or she would be encouraging the madman. He went to the bookshelves. Figuring out what they were was a bit harder for him than reading the letter had been. Some were magical tomes, there were several books of romantic poetry, some with obscure titles he couldn't fathom until he opened them and pieced together an inkling of their subject. He was relatively certain, however, that few, if any of them, were something that would require secrecy and great lengths to get a hold of. The blood mage must have hidden those somewhere. If he had notes on his horrific research, they were probably hidden too.

Before he could explore further, something on the floor caught his eye. He padded over to the shrine and bent to pick it up. He felt an odd hitch in his chest. It was a small crest, the Amell family's crest- although he supposed it was the Hawke crest now –which he remembered seeing Leandra wear on several occasions.

Fenris' head jerked up as someone called to Hawke. He had time to glimpse a blur of movement rushing past and realize who it was before she disappeared into the shadows. "Hawke…"

Anders came running from the other room, his expression caught between anger and worry. "Did you see her?" he demanded.

"She's gone." Fenris didn't look at him, his eyes on the darkness.

"She's in no condition…"

"If running is what she needs to do right now then let her do it, mage," Fenris snapped.

"Of course. Running is something you're an expert at, so naturally you'd say that, wouldn't you?"

Fenris' bloody hand clenched around the crest and he took a step toward him.

"Can't you two stop it for one night?" Isabela stepped around Anders and passed between them, shaking her head in disgust. She continued on without glancing back, heading for the foundry's entrance.

"She's right." Varric came up and glared between them. "I don't know what we can do for Hawke right now, but I can guarantee this isn't it."

Fenris bit back his anger with some effort and took a deliberate step backward. Anders did the same. The anger had bled from his expression and now he just looked bleak. He looked around. "Why her?" His voice was quiet, but it echoed through the cavernous room. Fenris wasn't sure whether he was referring to Leandra or Hawke. Or both.

Whichever it was, neither he nor Varric had an answer.

* * *

Anders wasn't the only one asking that question.

In his house in Lowtown, Gamlen Amell reeled away from the blood spattered specter that had appeared at his door. "You…" Grief choked him. "Why didn't you get to her sooner? If you…she would be…" Even as the words left his mouth, he regretted them, especially when Alessa flinched and dropped her gaze to the floor. He understood his niece even less than he'd understood his sister, but he knew enough about her to know she was already blaming herself plenty.

Gamlen leaned against the mantel of his fireplace, drawing in deep breaths. He'd been in a state of empathic denial ever since they'd told him about the white lilies, searching the area around his home, certain Leandra was just taking a scenic route or something. He simply couldn't accept someone would have killed his sister. Growing up, Leandra had been the headstrong one, the one who challenged everything, the daring one, pushing the boundaries of their family and society without a care. Even now that they were grown, he had the idea she was indestructible, a force of nature, that she would always come out on top of whatever was thrown at her.

But she was dead now. Everything that pride and anger and jealousy had driven him to say or do toward her weighed down on him. Every harsh word they'd exchanged echoed in his head. The fire in the hearth blurred in his vision. "Why her?" he managed. "Why Leandra?"

Alessa didn't answer. She didn't _have_ an answer for that question anymore than he did.

"What about the man who killed her?" He asked, grasping for something to cling to.

"Dead, uncle."

"It doesn't bring her back, but I'll take it," he muttered.

They stood across the room from each other in awkward silence for a moment, joined in grief and yet each alone in it. They had never been close and there were too many things between them to allow them to truly mourn together.

Gamlen took in the state she was in and realized with a nasty jolt that she had probably come close to dying herself. It made him regret his harsh words earlier even more. He finally spoke, offering the only thing he could: "I'll do what needs to be done to inform Bethany."

She looked away. "Thank you, uncle."

"Take care of yourself, my dear."

She nodded softly and then she was gone.

* * *

The wind was still high, stealing what warmth spring had brought to Kirkwall. Hawke hunched against it, shivering, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as she slowly mounted the steps that would lead her up to Hightown.

She should have gone back. Varric and the others would be worried. She should have taken responsibility for telling her sister their mother was dead.

She understood perfectly all the things she should have been doing, but seemed unable to make herself do them.

Hawke stopped at the top of the stairs, realizing her steps were taking her home. Home. She almost laughed at that, swaying in the cold dark of Kirkwall's early morning, the wind ruffling her blood matted hair.

She dreaded facing Bodhan and Sandal and Orana. She should go back and help Aveline with…help her…

Her feet seemed to move of their own volition and she ran through Hightown, like she could escape those thoughts, those memories. And she had to escape them. Because if she let herself think about what had happened in the past few hours and dwell on the images of what had been done to her mother, why, she would just go mad, wouldn't she?

She had to get away. She needed to get away from everyone, shut herself away.

Her muscles burned and ached. She was well aware she was reaching the point of collapse, her body pushed far beyond its limits. When she found herself on the walkway leading up to the estate's door, she stared blankly up at it for a long moment, wondering how something she knew so well could look so unfamiliar now.

Bodhan must have been watching at the window for her, because he burst through the door and hurried toward her before she was halfway there. "Lady Hawke! Thank the ancestors! Are you well? Where…" He got a good look at her and stopped. All it took was one look at her face. His expression crumpled. "Oh."

The sight cracked her control over her emotions and she swayed a bit. "Aveline will…her body…"

Bodhan came forward and took hold of her hand gently. "Come, Lady Hawke, you look ready to fall over. Orana drew a bath. She had a feeling you would be needing it. Come now." His voice had the same fatherly, soothing quality he used when he was dealing with Sandal.

Orana was hovering in the entrance hall. Her eyes widened when she saw Hawke and she realized dimly that she probably looked like something from a nightmare. She pushed a hank of hair out of her face, her façade cracking just a little more. "Thank you, Bodhan. I…thank you…" She moved to the stairs quickly. Behind her, she could hear Bodhan saying something to Orana in a low voice. The elf made a low sound that made Hawke's throat swell shut.

Hawke put into her bathing chamber and looked around. Her great-great-grandfather had designed it. Had designed the entire estate, as a matter of fact. He'd been a genius even Aran Palla admired. The bathing rooms and the steam room were both examples of it. Not only had he built the estate over its own natural cistern, he'd adapted Tevinter and qunari designs so pipes were run down into it, allowing water to be pumped directly into the basin. Orana had filled the tub and heated the water recently enough there was still soft curls of steam rising from it, for which she was profoundly grateful. She stripped and left her ruined clothes and armor on the floor, lowering herself into the water slowly. She winced at the heat on the newly healed cuts, but it soothed the aches and bruises.

The water became tinted red as she washed herself off. Blood. From her. From the battle. From…from…

_I found her eyes._

Maker's breath.

_Her skin, her delicate figure._

Hawke gripped the sides of the tub so hard it hurt, her head bowing.

_And her face._

Her mother's face.

Hawke ducked her head beneath the water, clawing at her hair to get the blood out desperately. She held her breath until her lungs ached.

_Your mother was chosen because she was special…she's part of something greater…_

She couldn't _think_ about this.

Hawke surged out of the water with a gasp and scrambled out of the tub. She wrapped a robe around herself without bothering to dry the water from her body and stalked into her room.

_And her face. That beautiful face._

"Please," she whispered. She looked around desperately for something, anything to distract her. She had letters that needed to be read and answered and her books. Her beloved books. She grabbed one off the shelf without even bothering to look, but the words blurred on the pages. She couldn't make her exhausted brain focus on them.

She slammed the book down on the desk and spun away. Her gaze fell on the long shelf on the wall where she kept her puzzles. She had dozens of them. Some she'd found, but most of them were ones Theta had made for her. Puzzle boxes, intricate puzzles made up of wooden blocks or metal rings or shapes cunningly hidden within larger shapes. She walked over slowly and picked one up. It was the linking rings puzzle Theta had given her the day after the qunari had first landed. To her, it seemed simple. A twist of the wrist here, a careful tug there, run this ring carefully along this one and they became a chain. Repeat the process in reverse and they formed a triangle.

Simple and logical. Seemingly intricate but beneath it all, it made absolute sense. The way everything should make absolute sense.

Mechanically, Hawke picked up the next puzzle and solved it, setting the pieces aside and moving on to the next one. Impulsively, she swept up as many puzzles as she could carry and took them to the rug in front of the fireplace, dumping them on the floor and returning for more, until they were all piled up on the floor. She sat down beside them, grabbing the first one and going to work, letting those perfectly logical pieces of metal and wood fill her vision.

* * *

When Fenris found her, she'd gone through almost all of them. The pieces lay scattered across the floor around her.

The elf walked slowly into the room and stopped when he caught sight of her. She was currently working on a series of blocks that formed various patterns when she turned them a certain way. If she took any note of him, she didn't show it, completely focused on the puzzle. Like if she could solve it, she could force the world to make sense.

"Hawke." He spoke softly. "Alessa."

She looked up slowly. Oh, Maker, the world of pain in her eyes made his heart hurt in sympathy. She looked impossibly young and so fragile she seemed ready to shatter at any moment. He'd been expecting her to be bad from the worry in Bodhan and Orana's eyes, but this…

Fenris spread his hands. He wasn't sure she even wanted to see him, but he couldn't stay away. "I don't know what to say, but I am here."

Her face tightened and she looked away, turning a wooden block over and over between her fingers. Her breath hitched audibly.

"Alessa." He crouched down in front of her. She was starting to frighten him. He'd cleaned his gauntlets and left them behind in the mansion but had tied her favor to him around one bare wrist.

Her eyes fell on it as he reached for her and she raised her hands to her face. "I should have warned her about the white lilies. I never even knew she was getting them, why…" Her eyes met his and her breath hitched again. "He cut off her head, Fenris." She sounded bewildered.

"I know."

"He took someone else's eyes and put them in her. He cut off her head and attached it to another body. Not even a body. Something he pieced together from other women. How could he? How?" Her voice was starting to come faster, her breathing coming out in harsh pants. She was rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped around herself. "He was going to keep her trapped in there and he didn't even see it. Didn't even see _her._ "

"Alessa…"

"Why? _Why?_ He did that to my mother. She wasn't his wife, she was my _mother_!" Hawke swept the blocks up and threw them against the wall suddenly. She tried to get to her feet and stumbled, letting out a low, plaintive cry as Fenris caught her. Whatever dam she'd been using to hold her emotions back burst. Fenris wrapped his arms around her as she collapsed against him. Deep, tearing sobs shook her slender frame. Fenris let her cry, let her pour out her sorrow and horror. There was nothing else he could think to do. There was nothing he could possibly say that would change what had happened to her mother. Leandra had not deserved such a horrific end by any stretch of the imagination. It was terrible. It was unfair. And there was nothing that could make it better. So he held her, stroking her hair, murmuring to her in his native tongue, whispering her name again and again in soothing croon. That he could give her. There were few things in the world he wanted to do more than touch her, so that he could give her without hesitation. He was unaware that tears were stinging his own eyes because he couldn't stand seeing her in such pain. At the same time, the relief that she was alive made him feel weak, because he was terrifyingly aware that she had come close to dying alongside her mother in that tomb.

He didn't know how long they knelt there. She wept until she had no tears left, her face buried against his neck. Fenris leaned back to look at her. Seeing how blank her eyes were, glazed with exhaustion, he brushed her damp hair back away from her face and picked her up, carrying her to her bed. He'd thought she would drop into sleep the moment he laid her out, so he was startled when he started to withdraw and she gripped his arm. "Don't."

He froze. "Hawke…"

"Fenris, please don't leave me alone," she pleaded, looking up at him desperately. When he continued to hesitate, she seemed to shrink in on herself. "Just hold onto me for a while. I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams. Please?"

He had no will to resist her. He slid into the bed beside her and drew her into his arms again. Her hands fisted in the front of his shirt as she clung to him, trembling. Fenris couldn't stop himself from running his fingers through her hair or brushing his lips across the tears that remained on her face. His body sang at being close to her again. It wasn't even desire, not wholly. It was so much more dangerous than that. It was the simple joy of having her near him, of being surrounded by her scent; and the frightening knowledge he would to do anything she asked of him because he wanted to. Anything.

Gradually, her breathing evened out and she relaxed into his hold. Fenris held onto her even when he was certain she was asleep at last, clinging to her as desperately as she'd clung to him, drawing out the moment and savoring it as long as possible. He finally brushed his lips across hers softly and untangled himself, laying her out gently and tucking the covers around her. He leaned over her for a long moment, letting his forehead rest against hers.

_Stay,_ a voice in his mind whispered. He wanted to. Maker, how he wanted to. He eased back, trying to fight the urge to curl around her. He had to fight it. He had to, because he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he fell asleep with her in his arms right now, he would never be able to leave. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't look in her eyes and tell her he didn't want her, didn't dream of her. That he wouldn't break himself into pieces and refashion himself into whatever she wanted him to be if he could.

He'd thought leaving her that first time was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he was wrong. This was so much harder. He should never have allowed himself to get so close to her again. But how could he have stayed away?

Fenris stood and stared down at her for a long time, tracing every line of her face with his eyes. His hand closed over the crest in his pocket. He'd meant to give it back to her. He started to withdraw it, meaning to place it on her desk or something. He felt the crackle of dried blood against his palm and he was reminded sharply of something else.

_DuPris._

Rage, a much more familiar and welcome emotion, rose in him. That was unfinished business, oh yes. That was one score left to settle. The mage probably thought he was safe, that they hadn't put some pieces together. Maybe the others hadn't, but Fenris had.

He cast one last, lingering glance at Hawke. _You're not fully avenged, Alessa. Neither of you are. But you will be. I'll wait for him to show his face every day, if that's what it takes. I swear it._

He slipped out the door.

He hadn't been gone long before Hawke lifted her head. She stared at the door for a long while before she curled up and closed her eyes. She was too numb to cry. She didn't think she'd feel anything ever again.

* * *

Anders was coming up the walk as Fenris emerged from the house. The mage drew up short when he saw him and his eyes drifted past him to the house. "She's not back? Damn, but she's not anywhere else in Lowtown, we checked."

The clear worry in his eyes irritated Fenris. "She's here. She's asleep, mage, leave her be."

"She's h…you left her _alone?_ " Anger darkened Anders' face and Fenris found himself flinching slightly at the sight of it. It wasn't the kind of anger they were all used to seeing in him when he was ranting about oppression or the Templars; he was truly outraged on Hawke's behalf.

The fact Fenris knew he had every reason to be put the elf on the defensive. "There's something that needs to be done. It can't wait." He didn't think Anders had anything to do with DuPris, but he didn't want to risk him tipping the blood mage off somehow.

"You bloody fool!" Anders exploded. "Maker's breath, I swear, I can't imagine what she sees in you. I have _no_ idea. I cannot think of anyone less deserving of her!"

_You. You don't deserve her._ Suspicion bled through Fenris and turned into a jagged stab of jealousy. Images of how, exactly, the mage might want to comfort her flashed through his mind. "Stay away from her, abomination." His voice was a rumbling growl.

Anders met his gaze squarely, unimpressed. There was no flicker of his spirit in his eyes. It was just Anders. His voice was very calm, now. "I want to look over her wounds when she wakes and I have some teas and salves for her. And you're not stopping me, elf. If you want to try, then fine, we'll fight it out right here and now. You don't have any right to act protective. You're walking away from her when she needs you most."

That was a well placed blow. Fenris felt his breath whoosh out of his lungs and he truly flinched this time. "If I wait much longer, DuPris might get away. I won't let that happen," he said in a rush. He made no attempt to stop Anders from moving toward the house, striding around him.

"I don't care whatever excuse you've come up with," Anders snapped, turning to watch him. Fenris refused to answer that, though his step slowed at the mage's next words. "Right now or very soon, someone in the Gallows is going to be telling Bethany that her mother is dead. I wish, more than anything, that I could be there to comfort her right now."

"Then turn yourself over to the Templars and go to her, mage."

Anders ignored that. "You have that chance to be there for Alessa. She needs you. She _loves_ you for some unfathomable reason. And you throw that away." Now his voice was wondering, as if he couldn't believe anyone could be so stupid. "If you can't give her everything, why didn't you just stay away? She didn't deserve to be broken twice in one night."

Fenris would not look back and give the mage the satisfaction of seeing how hard those words hit him. He clutched the crest in his pocket like a talisman and headed for the mansion to retrieve his armor, trying to block out the mage's taunts and the truth in them.

* * *

Dawn was just starting to send fingers of light across Kirkwall. By the time any of it filtered down to Darktown, it was feeble and grey. Gascard DuPris, a man on a mission, had waited, shivering in the coolness of the morning, hiding himself and waiting until he saw a procession of exhausted guardsmen leading a covered cart up toward Lowtown. He breathed a sigh of relief, waiting until they were out of sight before hurrying toward the foundry. They had blocked the entrance, but it wasn't hard to slip past it and he was relieved to find they hadn't left anyone behind to stand watch over the place.

The mage held his breath as the stench of death watched over him. How Quentin had managed to hide for so long when the entire place was permeated with that stink was beyond him. He forced himself to take it in. A student of necromancy couldn't be squeamish about any aspect of death.

He hoped he would have a decent amount of time to search before more guardsmen came. He'd been a fool to think that Quentin would just leave his notes and books out in the open. He wasn't that crazy.

Gascard's footsteps echoed eerily as he made his way through the foundry. The fire in the hearth below his shrine had gone out and Gascard lit it with a murmured spell, gazing around. It had to be here, in his workshop. He'd start in the area where his bed and desk and that shrine were and work from there, he decided.

He glanced at the shrine and the portrait above it. Gascard had never met Quentin's wife when he'd started training with him years ago. He got the impression the man was overly protective of her. He'd brutally rejected any questions about her, had seemed suspicious of anyone who seemed too interested. Strange how a woman could have such a hold on such a powerful man. No, he had not known her, but he wished very much that she hadn't died. If she hadn't, Quentin would not have gone berserk in his grief and wouldn't have abandoned Gascard's training right as he was starting to learn the arts of necromancy. He'd run off and immersed himself in this obsession with rebuilding her. But even in madness, Quentin was far more powerful than he was, and Gascard's attempts to find him and demand the training he'd promised had been met with failure again and again. Until Alessa Hawke. Extraordinary, that woman. She'd even made him feel a bit guilty about making up that story about a sister. It was a terrible shame what had happened to her mother but it had led him to Quentin at last. Actually, he thought it was a good thing for all of them that he was dead. Even with his…wife…back, he didn't seem in any condition to continue training. Gascard would either find someone more stable to help him, or he would figure things out himself.

All he had to do was find the damned hiding spot.

He was carefully searching the walls and floors around the shrine when a low, purring voice drifted out of the dark behind him. "And here I was worried you'd be smart enough to stay away for a while."

Gascard spun around and froze in terror at the sight of the figure gliding into the light from the fire. His stomach contracted as if remembering the pain inflicted on it. The elf continued in that same pleasant voice that did little to mask the rage throbbing beneath it. "You figured out, too, that he must have kept his accursed research hidden somewhere, yes?"

Gascard raked his nails across his arm hard enough to draw blood and tried to call a spell. The markings etched in the elf's skin flared with light and a dizzying wall of force knocked Gascard back a step. Before he could recover, Fenris moved forward and backhanded him hard across the face, throwing him against the wall. "Was he your master, this Quentin?"

"No…" That was technically true. He hadn't been his master for years.

"You don't want to lie to me, mage." The elf hefted him up as if he weighed nothing and threw him into one of Quentin's bookshelves. "You knew that monster. You knew what he was capable of."

"Please…I told you, I had nothing to do with any of this. I just saw where she'd gone and I followed her." Gascard struggled to stand, spitting out blood.

"Ah, see, but that's the point. I found you here in this room, mage, while we were searching for her." Fenris stood a few feet away, watching him. "I didn't see her go in here, DuPris. Do you know how I found this place? I heard her scream." His voice lowered even more, becoming a growl that raised the hairs on Gascard's neck. "I heard that scream from the street above. Faint, but there. I knew it was her. And you…you were one floor above her, mage. There is no way you didn't hear her."

Gascard realized where he was going with this and realized he was about to die in the same moment. He didn't bother trying to excuse himself. Instead, he tried to move his fingers subtly and call a spell. The elf moved so fast Gascard barely had time to register it before he hit him again, interrupting the spell, making his head ring.

"You heard that scream and you stood here. You watched her go face that monster alone and searched for whatever foul studies he'd been using to harm her mother while she fought for her life below." The elf seemed to be speaking more to himself than Gascard. He was holding something in his hand, studying it for a long moment before he moved and attached it to his belt. It was some kind of family crest. "Every blood mage who dies by my hand from this night on dies in the name of Leandra Hawke." He finally looked at Gascard again, his face cold and merciless. The markings flared again and the elf spoke softly before his hand slid into his chest and took his life: "Feel honored, DuPris. You are the first."


	39. Pyre

_Entropy is scarier than blood any day of the year because it's inevitable no matter what form it takes. I studied blood magic because I had to learn how to control a natural talent. I_ chose _to study Entropy. I just have this fascination with the fact everything works..._ strives _...toward its own decay._

**-Malaina Surana**

* * *

Kirkwall mourned.

It did it quietly. There weren't moments of silence or black banners hanging in the streets or people collapsing in tears in public, but there were only a handful of people who both Hightown and Lowtown would have mourned together for, and Leandra Hawke was one of them. Other noblewomen might have made a big deal of appearing charitable and gracious but Leandra had been a truly generous soul no matter where she had lived. She had left her mark in a thousand different, small ways all over Kirkwall.

There were whispers about how she had died, but Aveline did everything in her power to keep things discreet. The Grand Cleric helped, encouraging people to remember Leandra's spirit in an effort to keep speculation away from what had happened to her body.

The guard worked in shifts as they went through Quentin's lair, both so they could get the job done and so no one actually had to deal with it constantly. The Grand Cleric had encouraged the Knight Commander to send a few of the templars to help but Royce, the Orlesian templar who had come with Zek, Haze, and Sil, was the only one who showed up to offer his services for the unenviable task of sorting through Quentin's victims. His prayers and cleansing of the remaining blood magic helped the guards a great deal and Aveline was very grateful for it.

They found the body of Gascard DuPris in the shrine Quentin had dedicated to his dead wife. If any of them took note of the fact he didn't appear to have a mark on him, no one bothered to question it.

It was a nightmare. The guards found and laid out mutilated corpses of at least twenty women they could identify and sorted decayed bones of several others. The victims ranged from as young as fifteen to as old as sixty, some chosen for their features and others that looked like they had simply been experiments. They found a couple of others who had clearly been one of Quentin's early attempts to piece body parts together and animate them. Worse were the limbs and body parts that had no match, laid out on the floor. Aveline felt sick with rage and grief. So many of them were clearly from Darktown and Lowtown, their disappearances going unnoticed and uncared about. They had no idea how long Quentin had been doing this. If he hadn't started kidnapping noblewomen, they might never have even known about him, she sometimes thought with deep horror.

And Hawke…

Hawke was frightening them all. Badly.

The thing she had been dreading most was Leandra. They'd gone back and forth about whether to give her a proper burning as she was or whether they needed to…to take the body apart and attempt to give the women sacrificed to create it a chance for one as well.

She had finally, reluctantly, decided to go to Hawke with it, but when she'd arrived at the estate, she had not been there and a worried Bodhan had only been able to tell her that Hawke had mentioned something about tending to her mother.

Troubled, Aveline had headed to Darktown to find several of her guardsman, already disturbed enough by the task, meeting her to tell her Hawke had been there when they had arrived in the morning. Aveline had found the young woman in Quentin's workspace. By that time, she had cut the stitches holding her mother's head to the makeshift body and was sewing it back onto Leandra's real one, bent over the task, her eyes narrowed into slits as she tried to make the stitches as small as possible. She didn't look up when Aveline approached her. "I couldn't find her eyes. I put the girl's back in. Her family's lucky. She's the most intact out of all of them." Her voice was low and cold and those mismatched eyes of hers were flat as a snake's.

"Hawke…" Aveline watched her, deeply disturbed. Donnic, who was laying out several bodies, caught her eye and shrugged helplessly, looking worried.

"I didn't want someone else's eyes in her head, Aveline," Hawke said firmly. "Or her head on another body." She leaned back and looked down at Leandra for a long time. Her flat, blank expression never changed, but there was a reverence in the way she crossed her mother's arms across her chest and brushed her fingers over her cheek.

"We should wrap her up, Hawke," Aveline finally murmured.

Hawke covered the body. "That'll do for the moment…I don't want…nothing from this place touches her when she's on her pyre, Aveline."

"All right, Hawke."

" _Nothing_." For a second, whatever shell of clinical indifference Hawke had wrapped around herself cracked and a wounded child stared out from her eyes.

"I'm sure Bodhan can find something."

"Let me help you get her back to your home, Hawke." Donnic came up beside her and tucked the cover around the body before picking it up carefully. If Aveline hadn't already been in love with him, she would have fallen for him right then.

Her relief when Hawke left with Donnic was short lived, however. Donnic told her Hawke had come right back after settling Leandra's body in the chapel. In any other circumstances, Aveline would have appreciated Hawke's help. Right now it was worrisome. And it had only been the beginning.

The Guard-Captain stood now in the bedroom of the house she shared with Donnic, smoothing her dress over her shoulders. She was not standing as the captain of the guard today. Today she was simply Aveline Hendyr, a woman who had lost a dear friend. It was a simple gown of dark green, her only jewelry the choker Leandra had given her for her wedding day. No black. Hawke had specifically asked none of them wear black if they were coming to Leandra's funeral. Her mother, she'd explained, had hated the color. None of them had worn black for her father's funeral either and Leandra had never worn it the entire time she'd been in mourning.

She checked the time and sighed quietly, tying her hair back and going out to meet Donnic. They walked across Hightown without speaking. Donnic took her hand and squeezed it briefly as they reached the Chantry Courtyard. A crowd had already gathered, a mass of dark, somber clothes. How many of them would have come if the Grand Cleric wasn't presiding? Probably not many, Aveline thought sourly.

Grand Cleric Elthina was standing in the center of the courtyard, beside the pyre they'd laid Leandra out on, her body wrapped from head to toe in a white shroud with the Amell crest on it. Two lay sisters stood at either end of the pyre with a lighted torch in their hands, the flames flickering in the faint, warm breeze. Several other chantry sisters and brothers, including Sebastian Vael and Mother Petrice, stood arrayed around Elthina as well. Aveline was surprised to notice Knight-Commander Meredith was also present, standing with a couple of her Templars off to the side of the Grand Cleric.

Finding Hawke wasn't hard at all. Amongst all the somber colors, the group standing on the opposite side of the pyre from the Grand Cleric, gathered around Hawke in a protective circle, was a startling contrast. Varric was standing on one side of Hawke, dressed in his usual leathers, and Saemus Dumar was on her other side. He must have also gotten Hawke's request, because he was the only noble not dressed in black or grey, wearing a blue tunic that matched his eyes. Anders was standing directly behind Hawke, also in his usual robes, though he didn't have his staff with him and Merrill was standing beside Varric in a simple white dress. Theta was there, so were Zek, Royce, Haze and Silandry, as well as several patrons of the library, and Corff, his hands folded respectfully in front of him. Orana, Bodhan, and Sandal stood near Hawke. Bodhan had his arm around his son's shoulders as Sandal stared at the pyre, tears streaming down his cheeks. Gamlen was standing slightly off to the side, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Bethany wasn't there, Aveline noted with sorrow. Hawke had petitioned the Knight-Commander to let her free of the Gallows long enough to attend her mother's funeral, but Meredith had refused. Anders had bitterly told her that the Knight-Commander stated she never made an exception for other noble families and therefore couldn't for Bethany either.

She didn't see Isabela anywhere, which kind of surprised her. There was no sign of Fenris, either, and sadly enough, that didn't surprise her at all.

Hawke herself was standing straight and still with Moose lying at her feet. She as dressed in a sheath of dark red, a silver band stamped with the Amell crest at the front holding her hair back from her face. Her eyes were fixed on her mother, her face set in the same cold, neutral mask it had been since her mother's death. She'd greeted every condolence with the same stiff politeness whether it was from a friend or a stranger and they all had the idea that honoring her mother was the only thing keeping Hawke from locking herself away completely. She looked so tired, Aveline thought. Her face was drawn and dark circles shadowed her eyes. She was clearly going through the motions. There was nothing in her face or eyes that gave away what she was feeling, she was keeping a tight leash on whatever it was she was feeling.

None of them knew what to expect when that leash snapped.

Aveline and Donnic came up to the group and Hawke turned her head to look up at them as Aveline laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

The crowd stirred and Aveline turned to see Isabela pushing her way through, wearing the same blue dress she'd stolen from Hawke. She ignored the scandalized gasps and stares of the people around her and walked to the pyre, looking down at Leandra for a long moment before she reached out and laid two gold coins gently on the cloth over her eyes. Mutters and protestations came from all around. Even the Grand Cleric appeared stunned, her usual poise faltering a bit as she stared at the pirate. Isabela took no notice, sauntering over to join them, giving Hawke a wink, though her usual playfulness wasn't behind the gesture. "Figured she'd appreciate a bit of the utterly non-traditional amongst all the tradition around here. Fits her perfectly."

Hawke very nearly smiled.

Mother Petrice moved forward, her face red, reaching as if to take the coins. Hawke narrowed her eyes at her, her voice ringing out sharply through the courtyard. "Leave them." It was not a request, cold command echoing in each word.

Petrice scowled at her and started to say something, but the Grand Cleric, composed once more, shook her head and said something quietly to her. Petrice retreated, anger flashing in her eyes.

Silence descended over the area once again, uneasy this time.

Grand Cleric Elthina broke it, stepping up to the pyre. She spread her hands slowly. "Today, we ask the Maker to receive the soul of Leandra Hawke into His hands. May she walk forever at his side." She folded her hands, her expression one of grieving sorrow. "I knew the Amells well. I held Leandra as an infant and dedicated her to the Chantry." She looked over at Hawke. "She was a beautiful baby." She laid a hand on Leandra's body for a moment. "I grieve that her life was one of so many given to the Maker in the past few days and pray few others will be rushed into eternity in the next." Several people around the Grand Cleric stirred at those words. Mother Petrice shifted slightly on her feet and Aveline was sure she caught the hint of a sneer on the woman's lips. Saemus Dumar had turned his head slightly and was staring at her with narrowed eyes. Meredith had also stirred slightly and when Aveline glanced at her, she noticed the Knight-Commander's eyes were fixed on a spot to her left. She followed her gaze and found a tall elf garbed in black had come to the front of the crowd and was standing with a calm, solemn expression, pointedly ignoring Meredith's glare. Aveline had met Orsino, the First Enchanter of Kirkwall's Circle of Magi, on a number of occasions when she'd turned runaway mages over to him. He was the only mage allowed to leave the Circle without the Knight-Commander's express permission, since the Grand Cleric considered him trustworthy. Why he was here was a complete mystery, however. Neither Hawke nor Leandra had ever mentioned meeting him, only hearing about him through Bethany's letters.

If Elthina noticed any of these strange undercurrents around them, she didn't show it. "As Andraste burned and rose to stand at the side of the Maker's throne, so let this soul, Lady Leandra Hawke, so burn and rise as well. Let us pray for her deliverance." The Grand Cleric's soft, musical voice carried across the courtyard as she intoned the prayers for the dying, her voice finally rising in a clear, sweet song. She finally stepped back and Hawke moved forward, taking the torch the nearest lay sister offered her and setting the pyre alight at her mother's head while the other lay sister set the other end alight.

The fire roared, smoke billowing up into the overcast sky, the heat washing over all of them. Many of the crowd started to drift away now that the bulk of the ceremony was done.

"So many needless deaths." Aveline was startled by the Knight-Commander's voice. Meredith looked from the pyre, her cold blue eyes sweeping the remaining crowd. "This shows what happens when blood magic is allowed to creep among us. Know the Templar Order will stand vigilant against it to make sure it never happens again. We will purge Kirkwall of blood mages." Her eyes fixed pointedly on Orsino. "No matter who tries to hide them."

"The madman responsible for this atrocity was never part my Circle," Orsino said calmly. "While your vigilance watching over us can't be faulted, it's a pity it wasn't enough to catch him before he took so many lives." He turned his head to look at Hawke before Meredith could reply and bowed slightly to her. "My deepest condolences, Lady Hawke. Your sister sends her regards. Since Bethany is such an important member of our Circle, I considered it an honor to stand witness for her mother since she could not."

"You dare…" Meredith started to growl.

"Oh, shut up, you cow." Gamlen snarled suddenly. He was swaying on his feet a bit and Aveline noticed for the first time his eyes were glassy from drink. "He's right."

"Gamlen," Aveline said sharply.

He ignored her, glaring blearily at Meredith. "Vigilance my ass. You sit there and shriek about blood mages night and day but don't even notice when one is slaughtering women right under your bloody nose."

"Serrah Amell," Elthina said quietly, stepping toward him, holding out a calming hand toward Meredith, who looked ready to explode. "I understand you are grieving, but there is no need to speak to the Knight-Commander like that."

Gamlen muttered something and turned his back on her, stumbling away.

"It's not really a surprise blood mages are causing so much chaos," Mother Petrice piped up. She was glaring at Theta, who didn't even bother to look at her. "The faithless run rampant in our city and no one steps forward to stop them. We can't even hold a memorial for those who have gone without heathens and heathen practices infiltrating it. We could sing forever and the Maker will never turn his gaze back to this place."

"Especially when so many of his 'faithful' around here are so easy handed with lies and murder," Saemus Dumar said coldly. "I'd look more into the Chantry itself for the corruption around here rather than the so-called heathens."

"Saemus!" The Grand Cleric stepped forward, giving him a stern look. She turned it just as firmly to Petrice. "All of you have some respect for the dead. This isn't the place for any of this."

There was utter silence on all sides, every onlooker watching the sudden explosion of hostilities as if mesmerized. Varric's face was twisted into an angry scowl and Anders' fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. Aveline didn't blame them. She was stunned and furious, agreeing fully with the Grand Cleric. They were supposed to be honoring Leandra, not using her death to grandstand, she didn't care how important whatever issue they were proclaiming about was to them.

Saemus was the only one to truly look abashed, turning and murmuring an apology to Hawke.

Hawke was the only person who remained expressionless, not moving or responding to any of it. Somehow, that seemed to shame everyone even more than the Grand Cleric's words did. After another moment of awkward silence, Meredith moved toward Orsino, but the mage bowed to the Grand Cleric and turned, moving away before she caught up to him. Meredith departed then, her face still white with anger. The rest of the crowd started to drift away as well.

Grand Cleric Elthina walked up to Hawke and took her hand gently. "Our lay sisters will keep watch, child. Her ashes will be blessed and held here until you claim them. Go, now, and allow yourself to mourn." She touched her cheek briefly and stepped back. After a moment, Hawke gave a stiff nod and turned away.

Of all of them, Theta was the only one who noticed Fenris.  The elf was crouched on the roof of one of the buildings across from the chantry.  He was too far away for her to read his expression but she had no doubt his eyes were on Hawke. 

* * *

Saemus watched as Hawke moved away, her friends still gathered in a protective knot around her. He didn't follow, resolving to visit her in a few days and apologize properly for speaking out of turn. Petrice had just made him so angry…

He looked back at the chantry mother to find her glaring at him again. Something in him broke and resolve suddenly filled him. "I have to thank you, Mother Petrice."

She blinked, looking startled. Something in his voice must have alerted Grand Cleric Elthina because she looked at him too, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean, Saemus?"

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Grand Cleric, believe me, I have never wanted to insult or hurt you, but Mother Petrice and all the people supporting her have helped me finally helped me decide what I'm going to do. What I have to do both for my own soul and maybe for everyone else in this city."

"Saemus, what are you talking about?"

He lifted his chin, holding her gaze for a long moment before he turned and walked away. "I have decided to convert to the Qun."


	40. Good Old Days

_Take care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them._

**\- Bob Dylan**

* * *

When Zek came upon her, Orana was sitting dejectedly on the front steps of the Hawke estate, her lute in her lap. She wasn't playing, those skilled fingers unmoving on the strings as she stared at the ground.

"Orana?" Zek walked toward her slowly.

She started and blinked up at him. "Oh! Serrah Zek…hello…"

"I told you just Zek is fine," he said gently. "May I sit?"

"Of course!" She started to scramble to her feet. "Let me get you…"

"I'm fine, I don't need anything. Thank you." He laid a gently restraining hand on her arm. "Are you all right? You look troubled."

She fidgeted. Orana still got so flustered when anyone inquired after her welfare. He imagined she wasn't used to it, at least from people who she thought were her superiors. Which was pretty much everyone around her. But, he thought hopefully, she wasn't _quite_ as flustered as she used to be. "It's such a beautiful day," she finally hedged. "I thought I would come out and play for a bit."

He glanced over his shoulder. "You don't like the garden?"

"Lady Hawke is working on it. She was an hour ago, anyway."

Zek frowned. "Surely Alessa doesn't mind of you play while she works."

"She doesn't. But seeing her…she…" Tears suddenly welled in her eyes, her lute slipping from her fingers. Zek barely managed to catch it before it hit the ground. She buried her face in her hands with a choked sob.

Zek had been very careful not to touch Orana in a way she might interpret as a demand. He wanted her, was pretty damn sure he was falling in love with her, but he'd observed enough to be cautious about making her think she had no choice in the matter simply because he was interested in her. But he wrapped an arm around her now, alarmed by the force of her tears. She leaned into his hold and Zek carefully laid the lute down and held her gently, letting her cry it out.

When her sobs tapered off, she seemed to realize what she was doing and drew back. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, there's nothing to be sorry for. Are you all right?" He had to resist the urge to touch her face and brush her tears away.

"It's just…" She seemed to be trying to hold the words back, but they poured from her. "I keep reminding myself to ask Lady Leandra something and then I remember that she's gone. That she's never going to ask for her favorite fruit tarts. Or ask for an opinion on wine. No one ever cared about what I thought about anything before but she actually _listened_ to me…like I mattered…"

"You do."

"She's never going to listen to me or anyone or do…anything. Because she's dead. And she was my mistress and she was so kind. So kind to me. And I've never cared before. I had one master before the Magister and when he died, the only thing I felt was worry about what our next master would be like."

Considering what Alessa had told him about Hadriana, she'd had every reason to be worried.

Orana's pretty face was ravaged. "I don't know how to do this. This sadness that's everywhere. And Lady Hawke." She shook her head slowly. "She doesn't sleep, she barely eats. She's either in the garden or locked away in the library or the chapel. I'm worried about her."

"We all are." He'd known about the garden and library but the chapel was a new one to him. Why was she locking herself in the chapel?

The only time they had seen Hawke outside her home was when she stopped by to pick something up or drop something off at the library. She seemed obsessed with obscure alchemical theories and radical medical techniques. The writings she was leaving with Haze were some of the most brilliant, if randomly written, they had seen from her so far and Anders had mentioned he wasn't going to run out of potions or poultices anytime soon because she was dropping off batches of them almost daily. It was well and good someone was benefitting from it but that didn't stop them from being worried.

"I wish I could help her, but I don't know how," Orana whispered helplessly.

"You can't help her if she won't let you," Zek replied. He looked up as the door opened and Bodhan stepped out. "None of us can."

Bodhan looked pained and started to say something, but froze before he could speak, his eyes going wide. Zek turned to look at whatever he was staring at and blinked in shock. How the lanky, auburn haired elf standing on the walk had gotten there without any of them noticing, Zek had no idea. He appeared to have just stepped out of thin air. His mouth twisted into a crooked grin that tugged on Zek's memory and he tried to remember where he'd seen him before.

"I must say, serrah," Bodhan said, trying to paste a smile over his nervousness, "I don't think I've ever seen someone move that quietly. Except maybe Lady Hawke."

The strange elf looked pleased. "Good to hear, since I'm the one that taught her."

Recognition clicked in Zek's mind. "I remember you. Corin. From Alessa's smuggling days."

Athenril's brother swept a smooth bow. "The one and only." He straightened and regarded the three of them for a moment, taking in the tracks of tears on Orana's face. His expression became serious. "Is she here?"

"She locked herself in the chapel out back," Bodhan said. His hands clenched into fists. "She didn't answer when I knocked and I don't know if she'll let you in, serrah…"

Corin snorted. "She's delusional if she thinks a locked door can keep _me_ out."

He moved to walk around the house. Zek frowned, rising to his feet. "Now, look here…"

"My troupe is only in the area for a little while and I want to see her. Calm down, serrah, and take care of your lady there. I'll see if I can cheer our Hawke up."

Zek felt his face heat. "She's not…" Corin was already gone, leaving Zek sputtering behind him. He shot a glance toward Orana, but she was looking down, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. Bodhan looked concerned, but there was a hint of a sparkle in his eyes. Trying not to appear flustered, Zek ran a hand through his hair. "I'll, um, come check on Alessa later. Haze has a book for her."

"Of course, serrah." Bodhan said.

"Orana, are you all right?" She nodded, still not looking at him, and Zek shrank a little inside, not sure how to explain. Instead, he drew a small book out and laid it by her hand. "You mentioned at the Hanged Man you didn't know some of the Chantry hymns so I found that for you." Ah, Maker, now he was babbling. "I'll see you later, okay?" He moved down the walk, his shoulders hunched.

Orana lifted her head, picking the book up and cradling it in her hands as she watched him go. The quiet longing in her eyes didn't pass Bodhan's notice. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "I believe that young man is trying to court you, Orana."

She looked up at him, startled. "Court?"

"He wants to win your affections."

"But…he hasn't even tried to touch me or…I didn't know…"

"Your affections, Orana," Bodhan said gently. He wondered if he was getting soft in his hold age, trying to play matchmaker between these two but he rather thought they could use the help. "You're not a slave anymore. He doesn't want to order you into his bed; he wants to win you over. Young Zek would never touch you without your permission."

Orana looked like a startled deer. She hadn't shed her slave skin quite enough to have considered someone might actually want to give things to her rather than just take. She considered his words, turning the book over and over between her fingers. "What would I do if I wanted to…give him permission?" she finally asked.

"Ah, well. Come inside and we'll have some tea and think that over. And maybe we'll ask Lady Hawke later. She knows Zek, after all." Bodhan felt a sense of lightness in him that he hadn't felt for weeks. After all the horrible things that were happening in Kirkwall, this was a welcome reprieve.

* * *

Corin didn't bother to knock.

Scaling the small building was child's play for him. There was a ventilation window set in the ceiling near the middle and he dropped through it with ease, landing in the central aisle.

Hawke had pulled everything off the alter and was using it as some sort of workbench. She was bent over as she wrote something feverishly in a notebook and didn't notice him at first, giving him time to absorb both the surroundings and her. She'd shoved the pews off to the side and turned the place into a workshop. There were burns on the walls and a whole had been punched through one of the stained glass windows.

Corin was indifferent to the Chantry. He didn't hate it like some elves did, regarding it as a human power structure the same as anything royal or political. The damage to the chapel didn't bother him in the slightest, but the sight of Alessa did. She was too thin, her dirty clothes hanging off her frame, her beautiful hair unwashed and hanging in greasy hanks around her face.

He'd heard about her sister being taken and her mother killed with genuine sorrow. He liked Bethany and Leandra had always been kind. But it was Corin, who had worked with her back when she was so determined to create a safe haven for her family, who understood how deep a blow it had struck Alessa. She'd fought to build this place up for her family only to have them taken away from her.

He circled toward the other side of the alter, careful not to appear threatening. "Alessa."

She jerked up, her eyes wild, staring at him without a hint of recognition for a long moment before she gave a slow blink. "Corin?"

"Evening, beautiful."

* * *

They ended up sitting on the floor, sharing a flask of brandy he'd brought with him.

"Orlais, eh?" Hawke gave him a once over. "It seems to have agreed with you."

He spread his arms in an inviting gesture. "Look all you like. Drink it in."

"Maker, you haven't changed a bit." She gave him a slight nudge, chuckling.

"Orlais actually ruined normal plays for us," Corin said as he settled back. "They have this theatre in Val Royeux that specializes in…ah, shall we say…risqué performances."

"Sex?"

"Sex, violence, manipulation, torture, you name it."

Alessa raised her eyebrows. "And the Chantry hasn't shut that down?"

"Officially they want to, but I can testify I've seen several high ranking members in attendance. And it's popular, Alessa. Frighteningly popular. People might never speak of it to each other at parties but when the parties end they head straight there. We weren't the first performance troupe to start putting on similar plays but we were among the first. We have to adapt ours, of course, depending on where we are. But Miranda likes to brag she's been murdered onstage one hundred times and counting, and committed suicide at least fifty times."

"Miranda?" Something about the way he said the name had her eying him thoughtfully.

"Lead actress." Corin's voice was casual but he was suddenly avoiding her eyes.

Alessa's eyes were all too knowing and there was a hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. "So your relationship is _strictly_ professional, is it?"

"At the moment." It came out as a mutter.

Alessa grinned outright. "What's this, Cor? A woman who is actually able to resist your legendary wiles?"

It was good to get a grin out of her, even if it was at his expense. The things one did for friendship. "She's playing hard to get, that's all."

"Uh huh."

"I beg your pardon, Lady Hawke, but _you_ played hard to get at first and you eventually succumbed. Several times, if I recall correctly."

His affronted expression, whether real or faked, finally made her laugh aloud. "Oh, Maker, she doesn't have a chance."

"Damn straight," Corin said. His expression of wounded dignity dissolved as her laughter rang off the stone walls. "And there, I got a laugh out of you like I promised Varric I would."

She dropped her gaze at that, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "He's that worried about me, eh?"

"Everyone is, Alessa. We're all used to you acting like a madwoman, but not this big of one."

She blew out a sigh. "I suppose..."

She paused as someone pounded on the door.

Corin cocked his head. "Your bad tempered elven friend, maybe? He was here earlier." He was startled to see her go stiff. "Zek, I think his name was."

"Oh." Hawke shoved her hair back. "Zek was here?"

"You know more than one bad tempered elf?" He studied her, intrigued. The tension around her eyes and across her face might not have been a good thing, but it was better than indifference.

"Don't ask. Anyway, it's probably another messenger from the Viscount." She made no move to get up and answer the door, taking another drink from the flask.

"I heard you were in high demand around the Viscount's Keep these days."

"I ignored his letters." Her voice had gone indifferent again. When someone called to her through the door angrily, she just narrowed her eyes.

"It appears he can't take a hint."

"Actually, that kind of sounds like the Seneschal." Hawke frowned at the door now.

Corin stared at her and then turned to look at the door. "Aren't you curious about what he wants?"

"Not really. He'll go away eventually."

She meant it too; he could see that in her eyes. Corin pushed himself to his feet and moved down the aisle before she could stop him. "Well, I'm curious."

He unlocked the door and through it open. It was indeed Seneschal Bran, looking flushed and slightly disheveled from pounding on the door, anger in his eyes. That itself was enough to shock the senses of anyone who had seen the man before. Bran was the ultimate politician. He never appeared less than dignified and was an expert at appearing emotionless in every way. To see him both ruffled up and angry might as well have been a sign the world was ending.

"Serrah Hawke." He stopped short when he came face to face with Corin.

The elf just grinned. "Can I help you?"

"Corin." Alessa's exasperated voice came from behind him, which only made him grin wider. She nudged him aside and faced the seneschal.

The man had clearly been on the attack, but first Corin had knocked him for a loop and now he was further knocked back by Alessa's appearance. She glanced down at herself, realizing how bad she must look. She couldn't muster up the urge to care.

The Seneschal drew himself up, gathering his dignity around him. "The Viscount is here," he said, his voice snapping out every word sharply.

It took her a moment to absorb that. "Here?"

"Yes. He very much needs to talk to you, Serrah Hawke. And you have been ignoring all messages." His mild tone didn't hide the thread of outrage beneath it. Men like them should not have to come to her, she was supposed to come to them. That was how power was supposed to work and the seneschal wasn't really prepared or happy to have that balance knocked off, even for a moment. He looked her over with contempt this time. "You should clean yourself off before you receive him."

"You and the Viscount can both stand out here until you rot for all I care," she said flatly.

Bran sputtered. "Don't you dare speak to me like that…"

"Or what?" Her eyes locked with his. Her voice was mildly curious but her eyes didn't reflect the emotion. Even he was chilled by whatever he saw there. Maybe he could see he wasn't dealing with a noble trying to be difficult. She truly didn't care.

He opened his mouth but another voice spoke before he could: "Serrah Hawke."

All of them turned to watch the Viscount enter the garden. Now it was Hawke's turn to be shocked. It had only been a week or so, but the Viscount looked like he'd aged a good ten years. He had always had a rather frail appearance. His detractors said it was the weakness in him that was simply showing through. It was heightened now. His skin was drawn so tight over his skull he looked skeletal and ancient. He moved slowly, carefully, as if his movements pained him. He stopped, fixing his tired, watery eyes on her. "Saemus has joined the Qun," he said, his voice as flat as hers had been.

Hawke let out a breath and felt Corin go still beside her. "When?" Saemus hadn't mentioned anything of it the last time he'd come to see her.

"He decided it the day of your mother's funeral."

"And he's made sure people know about it despite our efforts to keep it quiet. The whole city is in an uproar," Seneschal Bran bit out.

"Well, Hightown is, but that's about the entire city as far as you're concerned, isn't it?" Corin said, his voice cruelly amused. He wasn't making an effort to hide the fact he found the news delightful.

The seneschal glared at him furiously but the Viscount didn't even seem to hear. "He won't listen to reason. He won't even listen to the Grand Cleric."

Alessa knew where this was going. She started to speak, thinking to say something about how Saemus's decisions were his own. The Viscount waved his hand as if he already knew what she was going to say. "I blamed you at first, Hawke. I've never liked the influence you have over my son. Everything he's done in defiance or beneath his station seemed to get worse after he met you. But whoever's fault it is, the fact remains that Saemus only truly listens to two people in Kirkwall: the Arishok and you. So I have come to you, Hawke, not as the Viscount of Kirkwall, but as Saemus's father. Please speak with him. Ask him to come home for both our sakes. Please."

For a long moment Hawke could only stare at him, shaken to the core. She closed her eyes and ran her hand through her hair, calling herself ten kinds of fool even as she spoke. "I cannot promise you anything, Viscount."

"I know. I'm not sure even you can convince him. But please try."

"I'll talk to him."

"Thank you, Serrah Hawke. I have it on good authority that he's with the qunari right now."

She nodded, not saying another word as the seneschal led their Viscount away.

She stared across the garden for a moment after they had left. She felt Corin come up beside her. She didn't look at him. "Corin, would you do something for me?"

"What, Alessa?" His voice was subdued, more so than she'd ever heard it.

She hoped the foreboding in her heart didn't show in her voice. "I want you to go back to your troupe. Take your lady, your friends, all of them, and either go to your mother's caves or get out of Kirkwall entirely. Just in case."

"Alessa…"

She finally turned her head to look at him. "Please?"

Corin felt a swoop of dread for her go through him. Never in his life had he been so aware of the weight of disaster hanging over this city, trembling and ready to crush them all. And he also knew there was nothing he could do. Not to help Kirkwall or to help her. Except give her the reassurance that at least one person she cared about was safe. "All right."


	41. Stirring the Champion

_A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it._   
**\- Oscar Wilde**

* * *

The brightening of her spirits that Corin's visit had brought started to fade the closer she got to the qunari compound. He was a reminder of a brighter time. She wouldn't have ever believed that her days running with the smuggling crew would seem like the good old days. But she'd had her family with her then, her mother alive and Bethany free to roam Kirkwall. She'd been so arrogantly confident she could face and defeat any obstacle put in her family's way. They'd overcome the darkspawn, after all, what could be worse?

Plenty, it turned out. And she'd overcome every challenge except the ones that mattered.

Maybe the comparison between the past and the present were what made her footsteps seem to echo so very eerily as she walked down the street. She'd passed through this area plenty of times before the qunari had settled here, after all. She remembered how busy it was. Now she saw no one. Either they were holed up in their homes or they had moved away from the area completely. It only heightened the tension that seemed to vibrate the air.

She paused as the gate to the compound came in sight. The Viscount and the rest of the nobles in Kirkwall probably thought this was just another of Saemus's big gestures; his attempts to make a point by doing or saying something outrageous. Hawke wasn't so sure. She kept thinking of the crazy elf who had poisoned Lowtown, in despair because so many of her people kept going to the Qun for purpose. She thought about how Saemus had admitted to having so many doubts when she'd first met him. Unlike the Viscount, she also knew Saemus had spent plenty of time with Theta, enough he would have understood the downsides of joining the Qun.

Unlike the Viscount, she was fairly certain Saemus understood what he was doing, political disaster or no.

She'd promised she would talk to him. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to be certain that _he_ was certain.

The stens at the gate merely stepped aside wordlessly when she approached. That didn't set her at ease, nor did the fact the Arishok seemed to have been expecting her. She paused at the base of the stairs, tilting her head to regard the hulking figure. The Arishok spoke before she could say a word. "In four years, I have made no threat, and fanatics have lined up to hate us simply because we exist."

_Here's another man who knows the value of a dramatic statement,_ Hawke thought.

"But despite lies and fear, Bas still beg me to come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose." He straightened in his chair. "I know why you've come here, Hawke. The son has made his choice. You will not deny him that."

"I know Saemus well enough to know I _couldn't_ deny him that even if I wanted to. Which I don't."

The qunari leader simply looked at her, clearly not believing it.

Hawke sighed and ran a hand through her damp, newly scrubbed hair. "Arishok, I have heard plenty of words lately. Words from the Viscount, words from the people, words from the Chantry. Words from you. The only person I haven't heard from about this is Saemus himself. I didn't come here to argue with him or you about anything. All I want is to see his eyes when he tells me this is truly his choice. If he does, then his father will simply have to deal with it."

"His father isn't strong enough to deal with anything." The Arishok waved a hand, a thread of true contempt in his voice. He frowned slightly. "Saemus is not here, Hawke. He received a note from his father asking to meet with him and went in hopes of maintaining peace."

Now it was Hawke's turn to frown. "But his father is the one who asked me to come here. He came to me himself." For a wild moment, she thought this was some kind of trap to get her killed before she realized how foolish that was. She thought back to the Viscount's twisted, shrunken visage. No, he hadn't been trying to trick her.

The dread in the pit of her stomach became a roil. "Arishok, where did the note say to meet?"

"The Chantry."

_Petrice._

The name hovered unspoken between them.

Oh, Maker, she _wished_ this had been some kind of trap for her.

"We protect our own, Hawke." The Arishok's voice was a rumble.

A part of her brain registered the warning but the rest of it was a jumble of panicked thoughts. She turned and ran full out for the entrance of the compound and the Arishok didn't try to stop her.

Surely not, she tried to tell herself, running through Lowtown, heading for the stairs that would take her up, up to Hightown where the Chantry waited. Surely the woman wasn't _that_ crazy. Or that _stupid_.

She kept repeating that to herself in order to drown out the fear she was already too late.

* * *

Fenris leaned against the wall of the Grand Cleric's study, watching silently as Sebastian tried to explain what they'd done today. Elthina hadn't approved of Sebastian's quest for vengeance and they all knew it. A part of him thought this was probably a private conversation, but since neither one of them had asked him to leave- or taken note of him at all –he stayed put.

"I was hoping you had found your way back to the Maker, Sebastian," the Grand Cleric was saying. "Not hear that you've just been adding to the death that plagues Kirkwall lately."

"Lady Harimann is the only one who is dead, Grand Cleric. And the demon that controlled her."

"One murder is too much, Sebastian!"

Fenris had a great deal of respect for Grand Cleric Elthina, but in this case he believed her to be dead wrong. When Sebastian had come to him with suspicions about one of his family's old rivals, the Harimanns, being behind the deaths of his family, they hadn't had an inkling of how bad it was. Lady Harimann had indeed had the Vael family wiped out, all except one weak-chinned distant cousin that could be easily controlled to take the throne. And Sebastian, who she hadn't been able to get to. Her envy and lust for power might not have been driven to those heights, however, if she hadn't been a blood mage. Her dabbling with demons had led her to be controlled by a desire demon, which had escalated jealousy into a massacre.

Murder or not, the world was better off without her in it.

"She was a blood mage who would have harmed many more people if we hadn't destroyed her and her demon," Sebastian said, echoing Fenris's thoughts.

"And now your family is avenged." The Grand Cleric studied him for a long moment. "Why have you come back now, Sebastian? You've spent the last few years trying to muster the forces needed to retake Starkhaven, and now you want to give that up and return to the Chantry? Why?"

Sebastian faltered, turning away from her. He was silent for a long time. "I'm no longer…certain about it, Grand Cleric. At first, I thought I was doing my duty, saving my people. Now I'm not sure if duty is the reason I want to reclaim the throne…or my own personal gain." It agonized him to admit it and Fenris regarded him with some sympathy. Personally, he didn't understand why it had to be one or the other. Sebastian could do his duty to Starkhaven and still enjoy it, at least in Fenris's view. But duty and desire had a hard line drawn between them in Sebastian's mind, Fenris had seen it time and time again, and so he struggled with it constantly.

The Grand Cleric's eyes had softened and she motioned for them to follow her, stepping out of her study and traveling along the upper levels of the Chantry. "I don't think you're prepared to renew your vows as a Brother yet, Sebastian. You need to settle this war inside you first."

Sebastian dropped his eyes. "Grand Cleric…"

"You'll be welcome here at anytime…" She trailed off and stopped, frowning as she looked around.

Fenris looked around as well, wondering what was bothering her.

"Where is everybody?" Sebastian said, his chagrin forgotten for the moment.

Fenris blinked, realizing he had a point. Usually there were sisters and brothers of all types walking around on the daily business of running the Chantry and people of the flock praying or seeking an audience with one of the clerics. Other than a few voices echoing down the hall, the place was still and quiet.

The Grand Cleric glanced down a hallway. A young lay sister was kneeling on a cushion and praying quietly. "Child, is there some gathering I don't know about?" Her tone was half joking.

The girl looked up. "No, Grand Cleric. Mother Petrice told everyone to stay clear of the sanctuary." She gave her an excited smile. "She said Serrah Dumar had come to repent turning to the heathens!"

The Grand Cleric didn't share her excitement. In fact, Fenris was sure a flicker of concern, even dread, crossed her usually serene features as she pulled back and turned to head toward the sanctuary. Sebastian had mentioned she was dragging her feet on dealing with that particular Chantry Mother although Sebastian insisted it wasn't as easy as they thought it should be. Fenris was of the opinion the woman shouldn't have been given the title at all.

Sebastian met Fenris' gaze, frowning a bit. He found it unlikely that Saemus would suddenly change his mind. Once that boy was set on a course, he was set on it. And even if he had come to repent, why would Petrice want the entire sanctuary clear?

Elthina hurried onto the upper balcony that circled the Chantry's sanctuary. She laid her hands on the stone railing and froze, staring. "Oh no…"

Fenris came up beside her, his eyes immediately moving to the figure crouched on the alter platform with Andraste's statue gazing down on her.

Hawke.

At first, he thought she was praying, but then he realized she was kneeling beside another form, this one stretched out on his back, very still.

"Saemus." The Grand Cleric's voice was filled with pain.

On Elthina's other side, Sebastian spoke, his voice very quiet. "Oh, Maker."

That, Fenris thought, about summed it up.

And here came Mother Petrice, striding up as if on cue with a templar and several sisters who had been helping her preach against the qunari. There was a look of smug satisfaction on her face. She spoke, pitching her voice so it carried and echoed off the stone, lending it a grandness it held nowhere else. "Serrah Hawke! Look at what you have done!" To give credit to the woman's acting skills, she managed to wedge some sincere sounding outrage and sorrow into the words. "To pounce upon the Viscount's son, a repentant convert, in the Chantry itself? A crime with no excuse. Your Qunari masters will finally answer!"

Sebastian and the Grand Cleric seemed frozen, but Fenris pushed away from the rail as the templar and two of the sisters circled to flank Hawke, making it impossible for her to get down from the platform without running into them. He made for a stairwell that would take him down.

If Petrice had sent them to take Hawke right then, she might have had her. Hawke wasn't wearing armor and had only one dagger in her boot. But she didn't, motioning for them to hold back, an eager light in her eyes as she waited to see Hawke's response. She simply had to see the look in Hawke's eyes as she realized she had finally, _finally_ been bested.

Hawke gently laid Saemus's arms across his chest and closed his eyes in a tender gesture that made the Grand Cleric's fists clench and finally got her moving.

"Grand Cleric, don't go down there!" Sebastian whispered urgently as she turned for the same stairwell Fenris had taken.

"I must," she replied calmly. Sebastian went after her. It was clear Petrice was mad and he didn't trust her not to try and harm Elthina.

Fenris reached the sanctuary just as Hawke came to the edge of the platform and looked down at Petrice. If she'd been expecting Hawke to look guilty or panicked, she was disappointed. Hawke just stared at her for a long time. The look on her face was one of utter contempt. When she finally spoke, she didn't pitch her voice to make it carry and echo impressively. She didn't have to. "Mother Petrice, I used to think that you were an evil woman." Petrice stiffened with affront, but Hawke wasn't done. "And you may be. I'm not entirely certain what good and evil are anymore. I do, however, know what you are for certain."

"And what is that?"

"Stupid. You're a stupid, vapid woman and nothing more. You twist the Maker's name to make yourself feel more important because you don't have the ability to make it on your own merits."

Petrice and her followers just gaped at her for a second. Petrice's face turned red with fury. She whipped her head around and hissed something at the templar, who started to make his way up to the platform.

Fenris stepped forward but before he could attack, an arrow whizzed past him and thudded into the stone right in front of the templar, making him freeze in his tracks.

Sebastian stood, bow drawn, at the edge of the sanctuary, keeping the templar in his sights as the Grand Cleric strode in. The templar hesitated, looking at Petrice for guidance. One of the sisters who had come forward either didn't see Elthina or she was a die hard fanatic and didn't care. Perhaps she truly thought Petrice's plans were still going to come through. Whatever her reasons, she rushed up to the platform and threw herself at Hawke, scratching and biting. If she'd had the templar to back her up, she might have done some damage. Alone, she didn't have a chance. Even thin and underfed, Hawke took her down easily, blocking a swiping hand and bringing a fist up briskly into her jaw. The sister collapsed.

The other sister scurried back to Petrice and the templar followed suit. Hawke came down the platform stairs just as the Grand Cleric approached. She didn't spare Elthina a glance. No, Hawke's eyes were for Petrice alone. She'd pulled her dagger, holding it between two fingers in a gesture that looked casual but was anything but. Fenris felt a chill go through him as he got a look at her eyes.

He'd seen Hawke kill in battle but this was the first time he'd ever seen that cold, deadly look in her eyes. She was walking toward Petrice with every intention of killing her.

"Alessa." Fenris stepped forward, saying her name softly as the Grand Cleric held up a hand to stop her. Her eyes flicked to the Grand Cleric before settling on him, that cold expression never changing.

There was a trembling moment of uneasy silence before Petrice spoke up, her voice shrill. "Do you finally see what I've been trying to tell you, Grand Cleric? Look at what she's done! She insults the Maker!"

"And you diminish him even as you claim his side." Elthina's voice was cold. She glanced up toward where Saemus's body laid, grief etching lines into her face. "Andraste did not volunteer for the flame."

"Grand Cleric…"

Elthina turned away from Petrice to look at Hawke. "The Chantry respects the law and so must she."

Hawke just stared at her. For a moment, Fenris was certain she was going to flip that dagger up and kill Petrice anyway. Her face was suddenly the face of a stranger and yet still as familiar to him as his own.

_Alessa_. Her name rose on his lips but before he could voice it, she took a deliberate step back and bent to tuck the dagger back into her boot. Sebastian let out a breath beside him.

Petrice was watching the Grand Cleric mount the steps leading up to Saemus. The shocked look on her face was probably the most genuine expression that had ever crossed it. She was truly stunned at the idea Elthina was going to turn her over to the law like a common criminal. "Grand Cleric?" There was a tremor in her voice. Fenris couldn't find it in him to pity her.

"Grand Cleric?" Petrice moved as if to follow Elthina, which Fenris wouldn't have recommended, as she would have to get past Hawke, who was still standing on the stairs. Hawke wasn't looking at her, however. Fenris's brow furrowed as he noticed she was looking over their heads, toward the doorway.

She was smiling.

Even as he turned to look he heard the twang of a bowstring and Petrice stumbled forward, staring down at the point of an arrow protruding from her chest, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Sebastian turned, bringing his own bow up automatically. The qunari sten standing in the doorway was already releasing another arrow, this one thudding into Petrice's head. She dropped like a stone, dead before she hit the floor.

Hawke and the qunari looked at each other. It was an odd tableau: the two of them staring with Petrice's body between them, while the Grand Cleric and Andraste's statue looked down on them all.

The qunari swung his bow onto his back, taking no notice of Sebastian's arrow trained on him. "We protect those of the Qun. We do not abandon our own." With that, he turned and walked back out the door.

The Grand Cleric looked down at Petrice's body without expression. "Serrah Hawke, you'd best send for the Viscount."

"Send for him yourself, Grand Cleric," Hawke said, her voice flat. "Tell him we killed his son together, the three of us. You, me and him." Sebastian gasped and Elthina paused on the steps to look back at her. Hawke wasn't cold anymore, her eyes bright with anger. She was snapping from emotion to emotion on a heartbeat: grief, anger, violence. She was losing control, Fenris thought with dull shock. He wondered if she'd seen that same kind of madness in his eyes when his anger couldn't be contained anymore. Even Elthina paused when those eyes seared her. "You promoted her. You gave her power. You let her spread hatred throughout this city."

Elthina recovered herself quickly. "The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in hand. She is a gentle mother, who knows that her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves."

"Well, today she's a treacherous bitch mouthing empty platitudes while she hides a knife behind her back."

" _Hawke!"_ Sebastian burst out, stepping in as if to block the words from reaching the Grand Cleric.

Hawke turned and spat on Petrice's body, striding for the same exit the qunari had used without another word.

Fenris started after her. Dimly, he heard Sebastian telling him not to, but he barely gave his friend a glance.

She was headed for the stairs to Lowtown when he emerged from the Chantry. He called her name, but if she heard him, she didn't respond. That finally made him hesitate. He hadn't spoken to her since the night her mother had died and it occurred to him that he might be the last person who could talk her down. All logical thoughts, but they didn't stop him from going after her.

She must have sensed him coming, because she paused at the top of the steps and half turned to look at him. She said nothing as he paused a few feet away from her, clearly trying for a neutral mask and struggling with it. He almost wished she would turn that mix of grief and rage on him, anything that would let her find her balance again. Because he didn't know this woman. It had hit him hard in the Chantry and hit him harder even now with a space so much wider and deeper than the mere physical steps between them. Kirkwall was the first place he'd stayed so long in since he'd fled Seheron. The first place he'd stayed long enough he'd been able to see it change, the first place where he'd had friends he had known long enough to see change. Varric, Aveline, even changeless Isabela had grown since he'd first met her, not that you'd get her to admit it. But nowhere were those changes more profound than in Alessa Hawke. This wasn't the same young woman he'd seen racing along the docks, leading a gang of idiots along, her laughter echoing into the night.

That girl had been cracked open over the past four years, broken over the past few weeks, and seemed to have shattered completely today.

Fenris understood all too well that she was gone, that carefree girl, and they would never see her again. Ever. She couldn't go back to being her anymore than he could go back to being who he'd been before the markings.

The insight rocked him and he became aware she'd been waiting for him to speak, focusing on her just in time to see her flinch slightly and shift backward as if to put more distance between them. He frowned at that, aware she was interpreting his silence wrongly. What either of them might have said, they never knew, because one of Aveline's guards, Brennan, came rushing down the street. She drew up when she saw Hawke. "Serrah Hawke! Aveline stopped by the estate looking for you earlier!"

"What's wrong?" Hawke asked.

"This group of chantry folk got a whole lot of people all worked up against the qunari. Chantry folk! I'm not sure what's happened, but I know there's a fire. See it?" She pointed over the city and indeed, there was a thin line of black smoke visible against the gathering clouds over the sea and the musty chokedamp that clogged the air of Lowtown.

Hawke frowned. "That can't be the qunari. The compound is on the other side of the docks. That's the main port, isn't it?" Her voice trailed off and the blood drained from her face, her eyes going wide.

"Hawke?" Fenris's voice was sharper than he intended.

She looked at him, her eyes filling with horror. " _Theta._ "

* * *

Officially, it was Meredith Stannard who made Hawke the Champion of Kirkwall. That, Varric would say, was bullshit. She _named_ Hawke the Champion, made it all official sounding and everything, but Varric remembered the exact moment the Champion of Kirkwall started to fully come into being in the eyes of the people.

He'd known there was trouble the minute he'd seen the group traveling around Lowtown and proclaiming Saemus Dumar had repented and denied the Qun. Harmless on the surface, but Varric picked up on the fact they seemed to be gearing themselves up for something. The more they carried on, the more people gathered around them and the more wound up they seemed to get.

Varric stood outside the Hanged Man, watching silently. He didn't glance up when Isabela stepped up beside him. "Those are that bitch Petrice's goons." He nodded to the small group: two men in simple robes and a woman with the robes of a sister. "I've seen them with her."

"And out come the torches," Isabela murmured. "You don't think they're stupid enough to attack the qunari, do you?"

There was an odd note in the voice that made Varric glance up at her. "You sound almost hopeful, Ravaini."

She gave him a bland look, annoyed that he'd picked up on it. On one hand, she wanted to be far away from Kirkwall when the Arishok finally snapped. But, on the other, the confusion might make it easier to smuggle the Tome out now that she was certain she could get her hands on it.

_Soon,_ she told herself. _Soon._ She'd settle her debt and leave all this behind.

She felt and unexpected pang at that thought. Was she growing a sense of _attachment_? To _this_ wretched city? Where had that come from?

She was pulled from such disturbing thoughts as the crowd shouted suddenly and surged down the street, chanting hymns. She frowned. "They're not going for the qunari."

"No, that'll take them to the main port," Varric said, looking confused. His eyes widened suddenly. "Shit…oh, shit! Theta!" He spun around and ran into the Hanged Man to tell Corff to get buckets ready and send a messenger for Aveline before charging down the street after the mob. Damn it, he'd done his best to keep people off of Theta's back. Between him, Hawke, and Fenris, no one in Lowtown was willing to risk the consequences of harming her. But when the chantry got involved, it added a whole new level of menace that not even they could really fight against. There was nothing more dangerous than self-righteous killers.

Varric had no clear plan as he made his way down to the docks. He was fairly certain Aveline would send guardsmen soon if she hadn't already. Someone from the Guild had mentioned seeing Hawke head into the Chantry not long ago, so he had no idea if she'd get here in time.

The Chantry. Where Saemus Dumar had gone to repent. According to Petrice's followers. Varric's quick mind put those pieces together and he didn't like the picture coming together at all. But there wasn't time to dwell on it now.

They must have started throwing fire the second the house came into view, because there were already flames roaring in the house by the time they got there. Theta had made it out, only to come face to face with a mob. She stood in front of the house, a staff in one hand and a burn on her shoulder, the flames seeming to burnish her bronzed skin. The only good thing about that scene was that the crowd wasn't that large and they seemed intimidated facing the kossith woman herself.

The Sister had climbed up on a crate and was urging the crowd on, shrieking about murderous heathens and a mighty cleansing. Someone threw a rock and it clipped Theta's cheek before she could pull back, drawing a line of blood across her lovely face. The mob seemed to draw courage from the sight and Theta brought her staff up as they surged forward.

The Sister started chanting ecstatically, urging them on with a righteous fury that was somehow more frightening than anything in the rest of the crowd. Varric brought Bianca up before he could consider whether it was a wise move and fired a bolt directly over the sister's head, the bolt winging close enough to stir her hair. She faltered and glared at him in disbelief.

It wasn't enough, Varric thought as he tried to fight his way to Theta. She was holding them off so far but they were crowding in on every side, shouting and trying to mimic the sister's chant.

There was so much noise, Varric didn't know how her voice managed to pierce through it, but damned if it didn't, slicing into the chaos like a fistful of knives.

" _Enough!"_

Every head turned automatically as Hawke strode toward them. Moose was stalking right at her side, his big, blunt head swinging from side to side, teeth bared. Hawke looked over at Theta, taking in her injuries and the damage to her house then aimed a glare at the Sister with cold fury in her eyes. She moved toward her and the crowd got out of her way in a hurry. Because even thin and unhealthy looking, she was still the wild, strange young woman who helped Anders heal, who criminals had come to fear, who welcomed everyone into her home no matter what their status. She was still Hawke.

The Sister might have represented the power of the Chantry, but Hawke's power was closer and more familiar to them.

She was, Varric would say later, already their champion in many ways.

If they weren't cowed by Hawke, the sight of Fenris with his glowing tattoos and furious expression gave them a pause. He moved for Theta and set himself by her side, drawing his sword pointedly. Hawke, meanwhile, confronted the Sister, glaring up at her. "What in the void do you think you're doing?"

The sister gathered herself. "This is Chantry business."

"Snarling like a pack of rabid dogs?"

Gasps came from the crowd.

"How dare you!" The Sister's voice scaled up, becoming shrill, all the music gone from it. "Everyone knows you serve the heathens, Serrah Hawke and the time of the Maker's judgment is upon you! Mother Petrice-"

"Murdered Saemus Dumar not even an hour ago," Hawke overrode her, making sure her voice carried across the crowd.

Gasps and soft cries of shock came from the crowd, louder this time. Shit. Varric had his eyes on the Sister and saw the flicker of surprise go across her face, but it wasn't shock. She'd known, he thought. She'd probably known even before she'd headed down here.

"Lies!" The Sister's voice was strong, but she'd hesitated a bit too long to make it sound truly outraged. The crowd was looking to Hawke now and Varric didn't see doubt on any of their faces. The Sister might have been a lady of the Chantry, but Hawke was the one who they'd seen driving off gang members and throwing thieves aside. Hawke was the one who had a reputation that was scaling into legendary.

"Saemus?" Varric turned as Theta spoke for the first time. She was staring at Hawke, clutching a wound on her shoulder. The clear grief and shock in her voice had many people slowly backing away from her and the burning house, shaking their heads as if emerging from a dream, staring at the weapons and rocks in their hands as if wondering what they were doing there. "Saemus is _dead_?"

Hawke turned and gave her a sad, apologetic nod. Probably not the way she'd hoped to break the news to Theta.

"You and the rest of those qunari monsters killed him!" the Sister said, sensing she was losing the crowd and grasping desperately.

"Mother Petrice killed him," Hawke said firmly. "By her own hand or someone else's, it doesn't matter."

" _Why?"_ Now Theta was moving forward and the crowd parted fluidly before her. She paid no heed to her home behind her, all her grief focused on the dead boy. That, Varric thought, did not go unnoticed by the crowd. If there was any anger left, it was buried. There were ashamed glances now. Many of them knew Theta, had worked with her or bought from her. They made no move to stop any of the people rushing down the streets with buckets, including Zek and Royce. The templar stood watchfully near the house as Zek started calling rain and water down to help put out the fire.

Theta paid heed to none of it. Even standing on the barrel, the Sister was barely a head taller than Theta and those violet eyes seemed to stab into her in a way that made her flinch and drop her gaze. "Why?" She said it quietly. "He was just a boy."

"We didn't kill him." Varric heard the dance of words right there. It was sort of the truth, wasn't it? None of _them_ had killed them.

"You won't weep for him though, will you? He was just a _boy_. A headstrong, passionate boy who wanted to do good in this world. See this world for what it was. Was that such a threat?"

"I won't stand here and listen to your heathen nonsense." The Sister jumped off the barrel suddenly and scurried to the two men who had come with them. The crowd was eying her balefully now, still stirred up, and it wouldn't take much for them to turn on them. She raised her chin defiantly. "The cleansing is at hand and Mother Petrice will see it through, good people. You did your duty today no matter what _she_ ," she spat it now. It was hard to tell whether it was aimed at Hawke or Theta, "tells you."

"You've attacked a citizen of Kirkwall, that's what you've done." Aveline came up behind her with a pack of guards. She spun the sister around and clapped irons over her wrists while the woman sputtered. The crowd scattered as the guards took the two men with her, clapping them in irons as well.

"How dare you!" The Sister thrashed in Aveline's grip, glaring at her and then at Hawke as she walked up. "Mother Petrice will-"

"Mother Petrice is dead," Hawke said in a low voice, leaning forward, glaring into her face. "You'll see her again when you drop into the Void after your precious Maker throws you aside."

"Lies..." But this time, there was fear in her voice.

"Considering you might have just killed us all, that's not quite enough of a punishment, but it will do."

"Hawke." Aveline sent her a warning look before focusing on the prisoner. "You're welcome to petition the Grand Cleric for your release. You could also petition the Viscount, but I wouldn't recommend it." Aveline's voice was quiet, the sight of the old man weeping as he cradled his son's body clear in her mind. Hawke's words hit her especially hard because she could still hear the Viscount's cries in her ears. Cries that had echoed off the walls of the Chantry. Cries of a man permanently broken.

* * *

"I'm so sorry, Theta," Hawke said, standing beside her a few hours later. They were looking up at the smoldering remains of her house. Corff, Zek, and their volunteers had done their best to get the fire out quickly but there wasn't much they could do. Most of the structure was still intact, but the bottom half, the shop, was mostly destroyed. Hawke had felt tears spring to her eyes as she and Fenris had helped sift through it. Her statues, her boxes, her puzzles, so many of them were past repair. Theta had a small box of salvageable things sitting at her feet but that was it. Fenris stood silently on Theta's other side.

Hawke tugged on her arm. "You can stay with me until you rebuild. You'll be safer there anyway."

"Thank you, little stranger, I think I'll take you up on that," Theta said, surprising them both. The look of relief on Hawke's face- she'd obviously thought she was going to have to persuade her –told Fenris Theta was probably doing it more for Hawke's sake than her own. "I don't think I'll rebuild, however."

Hawke looked up at her, the relief fading. "What do you mean, Theta?"

The kossith turned a metal medallion emblazoned with a dragon over and over in her fingers. "I think this might have been a sign for me to go out in the world again."

Hawke looked away, trying to conceal her distress and failing. Theta gave her that patient smile of hers. "Not right away, little stranger. I'm not going anywhere until this situation here finishes. One way or another."

"Where will you go?" Hawke asked, her voice subdued.

Theta was silent for a long time, gazing not at the house but down toward the port. "Nowhere. Everywhere. The more I watch the events here, Alessa, the more I think they are the start of something. A prelude. A link in a chain, you could say."

Both Fenris and Hawke looked up at her. The moon was full, giving them enough light to see by. It traced her fine features, making her look like some kind of mystic prophet, lending a solemn edge to her words.

Theta looked at Hawke. "I've been wanting to wander a bit and see if these feelings of mine are true. Search for signs." She laughed softly at Hawke's baffled expression. "I know, my little stranger. The idea of going out looking for something without really knowing what makes no sense, but I can't explain it any better than that."

Fenris understood that better than Hawke did, though even he wasn't quite sure what to make of her pronouncement.

Hawke looked away. "Will you ever come back?"

Theta laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "I think our paths are meant to cross again and again."

That wasn't really an answer, but Hawke didn't seem inclined to press the subject and Fenris didn't blame her. Not when the idea none of them would be alive after the next few days was on all of their minds.


	42. Vinek Kathas

_The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it._

**\- Henry David Thoreau**

* * *

" _By the time the shit really started going down, the Viscount was a wreck. Not that he was that effective before his son died, but after? He didn't even pretend to care anymore," Varric explained to Cassandra. His tone was balanced somewhere between sympathy and disgust. "At first, it really didn't seem like Hawke did, either. She never outright said she blamed herself for Saemus' death, but we all knew she did. She was down. Seriously down. And none of us knew what to do. I wish I had. But how could any of us have known? Nothing she'd said or done prepared us for watching her when she was fighting-" The dwarf faltered, looking away for the first time since starting his story. He was silent for a moment before speaking in a stronger voice. "But I'm getting ahead of myself."_

" _You blame the Viscount for the Qunari attack, then?" Cassandra said, clearly trying to get him on track._

" _Can't blame any one person for the Qunari attack. He played his part, sure, but so did almost every person in Kirkwall. Not to mention the Arishok. No one forced that big bastard to decide to up and kill everyone in Kirkwall. As for who set the attack in motion, you can split that between Isabela and Aveline, though you can definitely shift most of it to Isabela. Her and that damned Tome."_

" _So she was the one that stole it. You took your time confirming that. Why, exactly, did the pirate do it?" Cassandra's voice was heavy with disapproval._

" _I never did get a straight answer out of her. Most of what I know I learned through bits and pieces over the years. From Bethany and Fenris, mostly."_

" _The elf?"_

" _Oh, yeah. But that's getting_ way _ahead. I know she got a shipment from a man named Castillon and I know that shipment turned out to be a bunch of Blight refugees sold into slavery, who she freed rather than deliver them over. My guess is the Tome was the price she had to pay for it in order to get Castillon off her back."_

" _I'm surprised you didn't just kill him off," Cassandra said with a faint sneer to her voice._

_Varric just looked up at her, his face surprisingly sober. "Isabela tried to run away with the Tome. She got Hawke to help her look for it and then took off when she found it. According to her, Hawke's first suggestion was returning the Tome to the Qunari and killing of Castillon and his men. She told me Hawke said it as casually as a born killer, although knowing what I know now, I'd say Hawke's thinking was more along the lines of it was a simple, logical solution to both problems. That doesn't make it any better, but it does sound more like Hawke._

" _And, shit, I wish I'd been there. Or anyone else, really. Because then we really might have understood exactly how bad off Hawke was."_

* * *

Isabela kept the bag with the Tome close to her side as she moved through Lowtown, circling around and taking a more twisting path to the Docks in order to avoid the Hanged Man since Hawke was probably going to head straight to Varric once she got out of Darktown. Isabela had already gathered whatever she needed from her room, which wasn't much. She'd gotten used to traveling light.

Everything had fallen into place perfectly and on time.

So why was she hesitating?

She paused. From her vantage point, she could just catch sight of the Gallows where poor Bethany was locked up. Well, she could still send her letters and such from wherever she was headed.

_Assuming Bethany is still alive._

That little voice in her head had been speaking up more and more in the past few days, bringing unwanted feelings along with it. She heard Hawke's voice follow it, telling her if she'd just asked Varric or her or any of them for help, they wouldn't be in this situation. She shook her head. She'd done what she had to do. Killing Castillon wasn't the solution, no matter how simple Hawke thought it was. It was more trouble than it was worth.

_For you, not for everyone else._

Besides, she thought as she started walking quickly again. Even if she gave the Tome back, the damned Qunari would probably attack. _She_ hadn't been the one provoking them over the past few years and they were always looking for an excuse to kill. She didn't give a damn what kind of religious nonsense they wrapped around it; the only reason people did the kinds of things the Qunari did was because they got off on it.

The Gallows came into view across the bay again.

Isabela stopped again, her feet refusing to move, wavering for the first time in…well, she couldn't remember.

Because Isabela was no fool. She couldn't simply deny the obvious no matter how hard she wanted to. There was a strong probability everyone she'd known here would be dead before the week was out. Or enslaved. Varric, Hawke, Fenris, Bethany…

_Hawke and Aveline dead for sure. No surrender for those two. They'd go into death defending people who would spit in their faces daily if they thought they could get away with it. And Varric too. He was more pragmatic than the do-gooders, but that streak of loyalty to the city and his friends ran too deep inside him to allow him to do anything else but stand beside them until the end. Fenris would die defending his precious Hawke, although she took comfort in the idea he'd probably take half the Qunari down with him. Anders and Justice too, would probably go down in a glorious wave of slaughter._

_But Bethany…_

_And Merrill._

_Shit, shit, shit. Either those two died or they ended up with their mouths sewn shut and on the end of a Qunari leash…_

That, in the end, was what made Isabela stop in her tracks. The idea of Bethany, sunny Bethany, not dead but enslaved. Of Merrill maimed, leashed, and broken, if they let her live at all.

_How much weight can your soul take before it breaks, Isabela? What will the memories do to you when you can't run anymore?_

Hawke's words from earlier today. At the time, Isabela had parried those words by accusing Hawke of projecting. After all, Hawke had quite a few things weighing her soul down these days, didn't she? And Hawke's wince in response had told Isabela she'd been right on the mark.

But now, with those images of all of them dead or worse…

Isabela had made it a habit not to look too far into the future. No point in it. That was what she said. But for the first time, she allowed herself to think ahead. Sure, she could turn the Tome over to Castillon and sleep without a thought. Now.

But would she always see the faces of the people she'd left behind? Would there come a point when even drink couldn't drown them out?

Unnerved, Isabela found herself thinking that was very possible…

* * *

"Don't do this, Aveline." Hawke hurried to keep up with the Guard-Captain.

"They killed a guardsman, Hawke. I cannot just let that pass." Aveline's face expression might as well have been set in stone. "The Arishok will just have to be reasonable."

"He's getting less and less reasonable with every passing day, Aveline."

"I don't care how many converts he gives sanctuary to, but I can't allow him to give those two asylum for murder. They live in Kirkwall and are under its laws like any other. If we can't maintain the law, we have nothing but madness."

"Kirkwall is already nothing but madness."

Aveline pretended she hadn't heard that muttered comment but Donnic winced and exchanged a glance with the other guards Aveline had brought along.

Hawke fell silent, then spoke to Aveline in a low voice. "Isabela took their Tome."

Aveline looked at her, her brow furrowing. "Am I supposed to be surprised?"

"I don't know what the Arishok will do when he finds out. If he doesn't know already."

Aveline's eyes met hers for a long moment but she continued on. She had no idea how to fix the explosive situation in Kirkwall. None. The Viscount had shut himself away and even Seneschal Bran looked distinctly nervous and harried. All Aveline knew to do was what she always had: uphold the law and try and keep her people safe. When two elven boys had killed one of her guardsmen and fled to the Qunari, the guardsman's family, as well as many of the people of Hightown, had reacted with a fury that had startled Aveline. It was like they'd just been waiting for some outlet for the tension in the city. They were _screaming_ for the elves' blood and she was very afraid if she didn't make the arrest, they would have a repeat of what had happened to Theta. Only much, much worse.

So there was no choice.

The guards at the door of the compound shifted as if to block their way until they noticed Hawke was with her. They didn't seem happy about it though, Aveline thought with unease. They let her pass but only with Hawke and a couple of guards. She left Donnic in charge of the others as they waited outside the compound, something she was profoundly grateful for later on.

The Arishok was not sitting on his throne this time, making no effort to set the stage as he had in the past.

"He's wearing armor," Hawke murmured. Her eyes followed the Arishok's arm as he sheathed a battleaxe almost as tall as she was on his back. "And he's never actually carried that before, he kept it off to the side. Aveline…"

Aveline shook her head, steeling herself as she walked up to the Arishok. He stared down at her expressionlessly. " _Shanedan."_

Aveline took a deep breath. "Greetings, Arishok. We've come about the elven fugitives that have taken refuge here."

"Irrelevant," the Arishok said with a slight wave of his hand. He shifted his gaze to Hawke and went still for a moment, studying her. Aveline couldn't blame him for that. Hawke looked worse and worse every time Aveline saw her. She was almost gaunt by that point, her skin drawn tight as a drum over her bones. Even now, she didn't look like she cared much about what was going on around her, though the fact she was here at all was proof that wasn't true. She hoped.

"I would speak to Hawke about the relic stolen from our grasp," the Arishok finally said.

Hawke's eyes flickered. "If you give me time, I'll get it back for you…" She didn't sound very hopeful.

"It's much too late for that." The Arishok's voice was little more than a whisper, but it carried to all their ears. The guards at Aveline's back shifted nervously until she glared at them. Loyal to the bone, they straightened and stood at attention.

Hawke stared up at him for a long moment, then closed her eyes and looked away, a sigh passing through her that seemed to tremble her whole body.

Aveline's instincts were screaming at her, telling her they were surrounded by warriors on all sides, completely outnumbered. But she was in this and she never did anything halfway, pushing her duty over her fear.

Besides, something in the Arishok's expression, the way he held himself, made her think that if they backed off now, they'd never make it to the gate alive.

"An issue for another time." She put every ounce of steel and authority in her voice that she possessed. "We're here for the fugitives."

"The elves are now _viddathari_. They have chosen to submit to the Qun." The Arishok was staring directly at Aveline now. His voice was matter-of-fact, as if that was the end of it. "They will be protected."

"Did they convert before or after they needed a place to hide?" Hawke asked cynically.

The Arishok turned just his head to regard her, the rest of his body rigid. "They have chosen. And so have I. _You_ haven't hidden the abuses of your zealots, or the corruption of this city. You, Hawke, will understand why I must do this."

Again came that odd flicker in her eyes. Hawke shot Aveline a glance that didn't soothe her in the slightest, not outwardly agreeing with the Qunari but it made Aveline wonder exactly how much she did.

For the first time in all the years she'd known her, Aveline found herself uneasy at the thought of having Hawke at her back.

Something of those thoughts must have shown in her expression, because Hawke looked away and down.

And the Arishok missed none of it.

He glanced over and nodded to one of his men. "Let us have a look at your _dangerous_ criminals." The sneer in his voice as he put emphasis on that word brought Aveline's back up. Of course, the Arishok had sneered at Kirkwall from the very start but this was the first time she'd ever seen him show it in such a manner.

Two stens approached, flanking the elven brothers protectively. The Arishok beckoned them forward. "Speak, viddathari. Who did you murder, and why?"

One of them stepped forward, his chin held high in defiance. "A city guard forced himself on our sister. We reported it…or tried to."

The other pushed forward to glare at Aveline. "You didn't do anything about it, no matter what we said. So we paid him a visit."

"That doesn't excuse murder!" Aveline glared right back, refusing to back down.

"Aveline?" Hawke gave her a troubled look and Aveline knew she was thinking of the guard that had been preying on the elves all those years ago, the one Moose had killed.

"There have been rumors, Hawke, and I will investigate. But they still took the law into their own hands."

"And apparently that was necessary," the Arishok said.

"Like you avenged the Viscount's son?" Aveline fired back. "It wasn't right then, and it's not right now."

This was what happened when you brought two people as solid as boulders with opposing views and smashed them together, Hawke couldn't help but think. If this had been a debate with nothing on the line, it would have been fascinating.

"Their actions are mere symptoms," the Arishok said implacably. "Your society is the disease."

But as it was, it was merely frightening.

"They have chosen. The viddathari will submit to the Qun and find a path your way has denied them." He stepped forward until Aveline had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. And she did, not budging an inch. There was a queer glitter in his eyes that had Hawke taking hold of Aveline's arm in warning. _He's gearing himself up_ , she thought, fear tracing ice up her spine. _Oh, Maker, it's finally happening…_

Aveline, either oblivious or out of sheer stubbornness, maybe both, shook her head. "You can't just decide that. You must hand them over."

The Arishok stared at her for a few moments, and then took a deliberate step back. Hawke was so tense, so focused on Aveline it took her a moment to realize he was addressing her. "Tell me, Hawke, what would you do in my place?"

Hawke scrubbed her hands over her face. "Given the circumstances and if they truly converted, I'd give them another chance," she said honestly. Because honesty was about the only thing she could offer at this point. It wouldn't stop the attack, she was sure of that, but it might get them out alive.

"Exactly so." The Arishok met her gaze and for one odd, singular moment, the two of them simply looked at each other. Just two people who didn't approve of each other's methods or beliefs but understood, perfectly, the strength and feeling that ran beneath them. For one single moment, Hawke thought she saw a flicker of regret in those strange golden eyes of his. Had he ever wondered, as she had, what it would have been like if they'd met under different circumstances?

Then it passed and Hawke could almost hear the moment he made the decision, hear the click of it in his brain, see it in the way he drew himself up before he spoke again, the finality of his tone chilling. "I cannot leave without the relic, and I cannot stay and remain blind to this dysfunction. There is only one solution."

Aveline held up a placating hand. "Arishok. There's no need…"

Hawke saw the blur of movement out of the corner of her eye and yanked Aveline back as one of the elven brothers, the angry one, came at Aveline with a dagger, snarling viciously. Hawke kicked out, knocking him back. She didn't see the moment when the Arishok signaled his men, but she heard that cold, even voice give the order to kill. Not just them, but all of Kirkwall.

" _Vinek kathas."_

 


End file.
